


Were the World Mine

by Vanimelda4



Series: Were the World Mine [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, High School, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Midsummer Night's Dream, Pining, Slow Burn, Teenlock, Were the World Mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanimelda4/pseuds/Vanimelda4
Summary: Loosely inspired by the movie "Were the World Mine".Set in High-School.Sherlock and John both end up being cast for the school's performance of "A Midsummer Night's Dream".Sherlock knows why he's in the play. He's very good at acting. Loves it even.But why John is here is a totally different story. John is horrible at acting.And further more, ever since "The Incident" Sherlock has vowed to stay away from John as far as humanly possible.Surely this will all end well.





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock is in Hell.  
He's pretty sure that, after the usual nine circles of hell, there's a tenth circle specifically reserved for occasions such as these  
So far he's done pretty well with avoiding John since the night of the....”Incident”.....and now, out of the blue, no warning whatsoever, John is here.  
At the school drama club.  
Where, not even in his wildest dreams, Sherlock had ever expected to see him. 

John plays rugby. That's his thing.  
Drama club and the school play they will end up rehearsing for a full 5 months is Sherlock's thing.  
Their worlds are completely different and should never collide.  
Not ever.  
He made the mistake of thinking that maybe they could once before and the memory haunts him till this very day.  
Never again. 

And yet, here John is.  
Rugby John, as Sherlock usually refers to him in his mind.  
The Rugby field was the first place where he had seen him after all.  
Rugby John is, at the moment, talking to Molly and Shaun. His smile one he wears oh so easily. His stance calm and relaxed as his hips are slightly tilted to the left and his hands gesture wildly as he tells some kind of riveting story that seems to have Molly enthralled.  
As John seems to reach the natural conclusion of his tale Molly giggles, Shaun claps him on the shoulder.  
John looks away.  
Almost....shy, and for just the briefest of moments their eyes meet before Sherlock himself turns his head away so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. 

God, he hopes John didn't see him staring.  
But even if he has. He probably doesn't remember Sherlock at all.  
After all. They only actually met that one time.  
They do share chemistry together but Sherlock is pretty sure Rugby John doesn't even know Nerdy Sherlock exists.  
Sherlock the Nerd.  
Sherlock the Geek...... Sherlock the Fag.  
Just a couple of the names that get thrown at him from time to time.  
He doesn't really care what they call him.  
Or at least....that's what he tells himself.  
He doesn't need the parties and social gatherings that the other boys seem to be so fond of.  
The kind of boys that John hangs out with most of the time.  
The jocks and the airhead bimbo girls. Like John's girlfriend. Mary. 

So why is John here?  
Why has Rugby John just waltzed into Drama Club like he owns the place?  
And why won't he leave.

Sherlock squints his eyes at him. Willing him to leave.  
He _has_ to leave.  
If John won't leave, he'll leave.

But

He won't. 

He sighs. 

He loves Drama Club way too much to leave.  
Even if staying means he'll have to put up with John being there for the foreseeable future.

John is talking to their teacher now. Mrs. Scott.  
Stupid smile still stuck on his face as he rakes his hand through his short blond hair.  
Sherlock finds that, in this moment, there is not a single person on earth he hates more. 

_Why_ is John here?  
Why could he not have stuck to rugby?  
Stayed where he belonged. Kept the precious equilibrium that is Sherlock's high-school life where he remains on one end of the scale and John on the other. Were they ever to meet the scales will tip and everything will end in chaos. 

He can only think of a couple of reasons why John is here.  
Maybe he actually wants to be in the school play this year? Maybe he suddenly likes acting and drama?  
But no, that can't be it, Sherlock has been observing John during chemistry.  
It gave him something to do every time he finished his classwork long before everyone else. John had never once shown any sort of interest in the arts.  
His favourite movie is James Bond for God's sake.  
And not just one of the Bond movies. Oh no. _All_ of the Bond movies. Literally _all_ of them. 

John is moving to another group of students now. Still smiling his dumb smile. Still looking as if he belongs here and nothing is out of place. As if the foundations of Sherlock's world are not cracking beneath his feet. 

Maybe John is here because he likes one of the girls in the class then.....  
But no, that can't be it either.  
John has a girlfriend.  
Mary.  
And, as far as Sherlock knows, they are both still pretty much the golden couple of the school and John is loyal almost to a fault.  
He would never pursue another while still with her. 

Mrs. Scott starts clapping her hands.  
A sign she uses to signal that she's about to start her class. 

Maybe John is just really good at acting? 

***************************************************

Rugby John is horrible at acting.  
He is quite possibly the worst actor Sherlock has ever seen.  
They're doing “A Midsummer Night's Dream” this year and they've all been handed a booklet of the play and are doing a read through where every one reads a random part to see where their talents are and......where they aren't. 

John seems to have left his talents on the rugby field.  
Or.....rather....buried them below the rugby field......deep down.......way, way down.  
John couldn't act his way out of a paper bag if the script was a literal pair of scissors. 

He keeps losing his place in the play. He gets words mixed up or just mispronounces them and his timbre is positively atrocious.

He must know how awful he is....surely....and yet.....that smile never leaves his face and with it he seems to enchant everyone around him as they all cheer him on and, when he is done murdering Shakespeare, Mrs. Scott claps him on the back and tells him it “wasn't bad for a first time.”

_Not bad?_  
Sherlock rolls his eyes. Not bad indeed. It was worse than bad. It was the worst. He's eager now for his turn to read and his hands slightly tremble as Molly finishes her part. She's chosen one of Helena's Monologues.  
Predictable.  
Finally Molly does finish and as she utters her last lines: 

_“I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,  
To die upon the hand I love so well.”_

Sherlock immediately takes over. He's chosen Puck's part from act five scene one. He knows this part well. He's read this play many times before. He knows most of the lines by heart. He pretends to read from the book but he's actually glancing over the edge of his book gauging John's reaction. 

_”If we shadows have offended,_  
_Think but this, and all is mended,_  
_That you have but slumber'd here_  
_While these visions did appear...”_

He starts speaking. John's eyes widen just a bit and his smile slightly falters as Sherlock glides through the text as if it were water. The sound of his voice gently rolling waves inviting everyone who hears to just let go and drift away upon them. 

_”Gentles, do not reprehend:_  
_if you pardon, we will mend...”_  
He reads on. 

He really likes this play. He likes the simplicity of how love is portrayed in it. How nice would it be if there really was a flower that would just make people fall in love with you.  
Nobody would have to be lonely. There would be someone for everyone. No forced social interactions to try and get someone to like you. No nerves about whether you made a fool of yourself in front of that someone. No rejection...... Love would never be unrequited.  
Would that not be a lovely world to live in. 

John is still looking at him. The look on his face a strange mix between surprise, genuine enjoyment, awe.....and....something else....  
It's making Sherlock nervous and his voice trembles ever so slightly as he finishes:

_”So, good night unto you all._  
_Give me your hands, if we be friends,_  
_And Robin shall restore amends.”_

Mrs. Scott applauds as she exclaims: “oh wonderful! Just wonderful!”  
The rest of the class applauds too. Everyone...except for John. He just stands there and looks at Sherlock.  
And smiles.  
And to his own mortifying embarrassment Sherlock feels his cheeks heating up as he quickly hides his face in his book. 

**************************************************

The rest of the class progresses in a similar fashion.  
At least.....Sherlock supposes it does.  
He can't keep his mind on the present anymore.  
It keeps drifting back to “The Incident”.  
The moment that made him want to avoid Rugby John for all of eternity.  
Stupid John with his eternal button-up shirts. His silly, bright smile and his soft blond hair that seems to......almost glow when the sun hits it.  
His muscular arms and legs and sturdy frame....... chiseled like a Greek statue after years of playing rugby almost on a daily basis.  
His kind, giving and cheerful personality.  
His perfect face.  
His perfect everything. 

Sherlock has been in love with John for years now.  
But, alas, it has always remained a secret love. A love unrequited.  
John is decidedly straight. With a girlfriend. And, up until today, Sherlock is quite sure John didn't even know Sherlock existed. He's positive “The Incident” is something only he remembers. Or...at least....he hopes John doesn't remember.  
He'd probably literally die of embarrassment if John knew that had been him.  
But no......he couldn't know.....after that night John had never once talked to him about it.....in fact he'd never talked to him at all.........never given him a knowing glance to let him know John remembered.  
Nothing.  
They'd just gone on as the strangers they'd been before.  
John with his girlfriend and Sherlock with.......  
What did he even have?  
He had drama club. That's what he had. That had been solely his.  
A place to try and distract himself from his feelings for John and the knowledge they would never be returned.  
And now John had weaseled his way into that aspect of his life as well.  
Once again Sherlock squints his eyes at John in what he hopes is a menacing fashion.  
John just smiles. 

************************************  
“The Incident.”  
Sherlock refuses to refer to it as anything else. The quotation marks are always included.  
It happened about a year ago.  
It was a time where Sherlock still held out some hope of maybe, if he tried hard enough, someday becoming friends with John.....or acquaintances.....or....something.  
Someone who's name John knew at least.  
Someone John would pass by in the hall and would smile at and go: “Hello, Sherlock!”  
And then Sherlock would smile back and all would be well with the world.  
He had been so naive. 

And so he had made himself go to parties and rugby matches he shouldn't be at in the first place.  
He'd end up either sticking out like a sore thumb or blending into the background completely all in the hopes of striking up a conversation with John. His Rugby John.  
It never worked out. 

Mostly because John wasn't his.  
John belonged to Mary.  
And she went with him pretty much everywhere. 

And so he found himself at a party of some kid he didn't know standing in the corner watching John and Mary make out.....and make out some more......and some more.....

He had felt sick to his stomach.  
So, in the end, utterly heartbroken and with absolutely no one else to talk to he had ended up drinking.  
Sherlock never drank.  
And so after only a couple of beers he had realized his mistake, but it had been too late.  
He had been sitting outside leaned against the wall next to the door when the whole “Incident” started.  
He had been unable to get up again. His legs weren't cooperating anymore and his stomach was in the middle of some valiant effort of leaving his body by way of his mouth.  
He hung his head between his legs and groaned as he silently vowed to himself never to drink again and to forget about his pursuit of John once and for all. 

Stupid.

Utterly perfect. 

But also stupid, John. 

He closed his eyes but mysteriously the world still kept on spinning around him.  
Next to him he heard the door open as two people left the house.  
He literally could not be bothered any less with who they were at the moment.  
He was still trying his very best not to topple over completely, passing out and ending up choking in his own vomit.  
He should probably call Mycroft to come and pick him up but, knowing Mycroft, a car was most likely already on its way.  
Mycroft always knew everything.  
He hated Mycroft. Mycroft and his meddling.  
He hated John too, he reminded himself.  
He hated himself. 

In hindsight perhaps he should have been a bit more attentive as to who it was that had just left the party through the door right next to him. 

“Hey.....are you okay?”

_Oh God no....._

He would recognize that voice anywhere. 

John. 

And then the second person spoke:  
“Come on, John. Just leave him......we don't know him. It's cold out here. You promised to take me home.”

Mary. 

Immediately Sherlock felt his insides lurch up again. This could not be happening. Maybe if he stayed as still and quiet as possible they would just leave. Of all the times he had wished John would look his way _this_ of all times was the time he had chose to do so?  
Just great......

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed tightly and tried to make himself as small as possible as he felt John crouch down next to him.  
A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. 

“Hey....” John said again. 

His voice was warm like honey and his hand a furnace setting Sherlock ablaze and he felt bile rise up in his throat. 

“Joooooooohn!” Mary drawled. She was getting impatient. Surely if Sherlock kept ignoring him he would go with his girlfriend and Sherlock would not have to live through the mortifying experience of throwing up in front of John.  
Or, heaven forbid, _on_ John.  
He gagged again. 

“Just go ahead without me then Mary if you're cold....he doesn't look well.”

Damn....damn chivalrous John. 

“I'm fine”, Sherlock slurred. He wished he hadn't. His own voice sounded faint and alien to his ears and quite the opposite of “fine”. 

“There you are”, John's voice still dripped like honey into his ears, “I was afraid you were unconscious and I was going to have to carry you.”

“Fine! Ignore me then!”, Mary sounded positively irate, “I'm going home and I'm going to sleep. Don't expect me to let you in when you come knocking later.”

“He needs help, Mary.”

“You don't even know him!”

“I....”

“Whatever, John.”

The sound of one set of feet had gradually disappeared into the distance. John had remained by his side. His hand still on his shoulder.  
Warm and comforting.  
Sherlock wished he would just leave.  
Sherlock wished he'd stay. 

“Can you stand?” 

Sherlock had shook his head.

John had laughed softly, causing butterflies to dance around in Sherlock's stomach and he had gagged once again.  
A strong muscly arm had been slung around his waist and his own arm was suddenly draped around a pair of strong shoulders. 

John smelled nice. 

He might have buried his nose in the hollow at the bottom of John's neck for just a moment.  
He might have.  
He chooses not to remember that part clearly anymore.  
Because of the alcohol making his memory hazy.  
Of course. 

All of a sudden he had started rising into the air. At first he had thought he had been flying but soon enough he realized it was John hoisting him to his feet. 

“There we go”, John's voice had been all gruff and gravely. It had done things to Sherlock. “Way better than sitting on the cold ground, right?”

It was then that Sherlock had looked up. Into John's bright blue eyes. His radiant smile. His perfect face. All of it inches away from Sherlock. All of his attention directed at him. So close....  
Once again his stomach had flipped.  
He retched.  
He had tried to move away.  
He had not been fast enough.  
A mixture of bile and stale beer had flowed past his lips in entirely the wrong direction and he had thrown up all over the ground....and John's shoes. 

“Wow there!” John had, surprisingly, still been laughing. His arm never leaving Sherlock's waist. If anything he had gripped him a bit tighter. Keeping him from falling as his body doubled over on itself. 

Sherlock had been completely and utterly mortified.  
He had wanted to die.  
He had silently wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. For a nearby volcano to first spring into existence and then erupt. For the apocalypse to happen.  
Anything. 

He had gotten drunk and thrown up all over Rugby John. The object of his affection for years. He would never be able to look him in the eyes again. Or even be near him. 

“Easy, easy....are you alright?' John asked again. 

Sherlock wanted to answer but he didn't know what to say. His entire world had pretty much just ended and, if he did open his mouth, he was also running the risk of throwing up a second time.  
If he were to throw up on John twice in a row he'd probably have to change his name and move to a different country. 

John was looking at him questioningly. The look on his face slowly morphing into one of concern. 

Sherlock felt both panic and bile rise up in his chest at the same time. 

It was then that a sleek black car pulled up beside them.  
The door on the passenger's side was slung open none too gently. 

“Get in”, a voice from inside that demanded respect and would not take no for an answer. 

Sherlock was already trying to make his way towards the car but John would not let go of him. 

“Wait”, John said. Still so concerned. “Who are you?”

From inside of the car only a loud sigh for an answer. 

“He's my brother”, Sherlock's voice was soft and frail. He felt like passing out. Maybe it was better if he did pass out. At least that would save him from the utter nightmare he currently found himself in. 

“Oh”, John's reply as the grip he had on Sherlock loosened slightly. Sherlock missed it already. “I could have taken you home safely too.”

From inside of the car another: “Get in.” as the door swung open slightly wider. 

The last thing Sherlock remembers from that moment is John gently lowering him into the car and pulling his seatbelt around him.  
John's hands finally leave him then and he can't help but shiver. The cold he feels is unbearable.  
Mycroft just sighs again. 

John hesitates a moment before he closes the door.  
“Just.....be safe.....yeah?” he says and Sherlock bathes in the warm honeyed tones of his voice one last time before he will inevitably never be able to speak to John again....ever. 

But the moment is cut short as Mycroft replies for him.  
“Noted”, is all he says before he reaches over Sherlock and pulls the door shut before pulling away violently.  
Sherlock feels his stomach lurch once again as the sudden movement causes his seatbelt to cut into him.  
He really hates Mycroft. 

He doesn't remember much else after that.  
He remembers throwing up one more time at the side of the road.  
He remembers suddenly laying in his bed, still fully clothed.  
Getting up in the middle of the night to throw up again. He only just makes it to the bathroom.  
When he wakes up in the morning there's a glass of water on his bedside table with two tablets of paracetamol.  
Sometimes he hates Mycroft just a little bit less.  
His mind turns to John and then he decides he must never think of John again.  
He has embarrassed himself so utterly and completely it is better to give up all pursuits of John. They are too different. It will never be. John has his girlfriend and seeing them together, so happily in love, will only bring Sherlock pain, heartbreak and misery.  
He must save himself and cut John out of his life completely.  
It was nothing more but a silly dream anyway. 

He also remembers crying. 

****************

Once class is over Sherlock decides to just leave as quickly as possible. No doubt John, being the social butterfly that he is, will be stuck talking to basically everyone for a while yet.  
If he makes sure he arrives to class last and leaves first he can avoid having to interact with John at all.  
He decides to temporarily forget about what will happen if they both get a large speaking part in the play.  
But with John's particular set of acting “skills” that does not seem to be likely.  
At this point, however, he has figured out why John is here. It's simple really.  
John needs the extra credit.  
There is a reason why Sherlock calls him “Rugby John” in his mind.  
Rugby is what John does. It's what he _is_ and he's very good at it.  
Because of his talent at sports he does have to devote a lot of his time and effort to rugby training and so he has little time for his other classes.....and it shows.  
His grades have been gradually slipping for a while now and so he had probably done what most kids do when they're looking for an easy grade: they pick theater class. 

Predictable.

Sherlock sighs as he makes his way to the door.  
He's fairly certain John doesn't know it was him that threw up all over his shoes.  
Thank God.  
It had been pretty dark that night and John probably didn't get a good look at his face.  
He probably doesn't even know his name. 

Sherlock heaves another sigh of relief as he reaches the door. His hand resting on the knob. Ready to open it in just a second....

“Hey! Wait up!”

Oh.....oh, God no

The honeyed tones of John's voice reach his ears.  
He was so close to slipping away unnoticed. He could still just open the door and make a run for it. He could.....

“Wait!.......Sherlock!”

Damn. 

He lets his hand fall away from the door. Suddenly it feels heavy and useless. 

John knows his name. 

Oh, please no. 

Dejectedly he turns around. Head hung low. His posture reminiscent of that night about a year ago now. 

And just as before, the smiling, perfect face of John greets him when he finally does look up.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock is doing his very best not to look John in the eye.  
John has been raking his hand through his hair all afternoon and it has ended up looking delightfully mussed and extremely sexy.  
Sherlock cannot deal with this right now. 

He feels like a nervous wreck already after having had to spend the afternoon in such close proximity to John.  
He feels as if he's vibrating. As if all his nerves have been replaced by rubber bands stretched to their limits and if literally anyone were to touch him right now they'd all snap, go flying across the room and cut and slice anyone they'd come in contact with.  
And tomorrow he will have to face it all again.  
Today was only an introductory class. See who shows up. Get a feel of the material for this season's performance. Tomorrow they will have their first actual class and Mrs. Scott will divide the roles. And after that.....a class every single week.....with John.  
Sherlock feels his nerves drawing just a bit tighter still. 

John seems a bit unsure how to handle Sherlock's sudden fascination with the wall just to the left of his ear.

“Ehm....”, John says, “your name _is_ Sherlock, right?”

Sherlock lets out an exasperated sigh.  
“Yes, my name actually is Sherlock”, he says, “it's not something they call me to make fun of me.”

John seems downright uncomfortable now.  
“I wasn't sure”, he replies as he rakes his hand through his hair once again. Sherlock just wishes he would stop doing that, “It is a bit of an odd name.”

“Well, unfortunately I was not able to name myself.”

John actually smiles a bit at his reply. It was not meant as a joke. Sherlock is not quite sure why John is smiling. Is he laughing with him or at him?  
He decides to just try and move the conversation forward. Maybe John will leave him alone once he's said what he wants to say.  
He sighs again.  
“So what is it you wanted to talk to me about, Ru.......” He abruptly stops talking, purses his lips together in a thin line and averts his eyes once again.  
_Rugby John_.....that's what he'd almost concluded his sentence with.  
He knew he should have just gone out the door and made a run for it.  
John cannot know he calls him “Rugby John”.  
He'll probably laugh at him again.  
Or worse: not laugh at all.  
He feels his cheeks turn red for the second time that day.  
And just like the last time he was this close to John he wishes for a sudden and catastrophic apocalypse. 

Luck however does not seem to be on his side as the world just carries on existing and John mistakes his silence for ignorance as he helpfully supplies:  
“John....my name is John.”

“I know who you are.” The words come out harsh and biting and this time it's John who looks away. 

Once again John musses his hair. His shirt pulls tight across his chest as he does so and in that moment Sherlock loses what little will to live he had left. 

“I was just wondering”, John says, still not looking Sherlock in the eye, “since you're so good at this Shakespeare stuff......whether you'd like to run lines together.....once we get our actual parts.......after class......tomorrow....if you want to....... that is.”

“I'm not sure.....” Sherlock says. But he is sure. Positively sure that would be a very bad idea. 

“Oh...but it wouldn't just be the two of us”, John interjects, “I was talking to Molly about it earlier and she's coming too. We'll be like a study group.”

Here John turns around to look for Molly amongst the other students still talking amongst themselves now that Mrs. Scott has left.  
“Right, Molls?”, John shouts at Molly once he locates her standing nearby. Stuffing her copy of “A Midsummer Night's Dream” in her bag. 

Molly looks rather starstruck now that all John's attention is suddenly focused on her. Sherlock can't say he blames her. He knows how she feels. 

“Wha....?” She says. Hand still in her bag. Seemingly frozen in place. 

“Sherlock and I are going to run our lines together after class tomorrow. You're coming too, right?” 

“Wha....?” Molly replies again. But it only takes her a couple of seconds to snap out of her John-induced haze. Her face lights up and she nods violently.  
“I'd love that!” she exclaims. 

John is smiling too now. 

“That's settled.” He says, “we should probably exchange phone-numbers though. If we're making this an official study group.”

Molly nods even harder and reaches into her bag once again to retrieve her phone. 

She actually giggles when she hands it over to John so he can put his number in there. John gives her a sheepish grin while he does so and just for a moment Sherlock actually feels something close to jealousy, wishing that grin was aimed at him and not simpering Molly.  
He quickly stomps those feelings down.  
He promised himself to not think of John anymore.  
Absolutely no good will come of it. 

“Sherlock?”

John is looking at him questioningly and for the life of him Sherlock cannot piece together what he wants. 

John coughs. It's awkward and once again Sherlock wants to die. 

“Your phone?” John clarifies. 

For just a moment Sherlock, the smartest boy in school, still cannot put together why John would want his phone, but after a couple more awkward seconds the pieces in his nerve-wracked mind finally fall into place. 

“Oh! For your number!” he says as he pulls his phone out of his back-pocket with a trembling hand. He does not believe in any sort of God but he still prays John has not picked up on the nervous tremor.....or the sweaty fingerprints that cover the screen when he hands the phone over. 

John hands him his own phone in return and it takes sherlock an embarrassingly long time to remember what his phone-number actually is. In the end he manages alright though. 

Molly also puts her number in his phone but he barely registers it. He cannot stop himself from staring at John now. John...with his messy hair....blue eyes.....lopsided smile.....very distinct dimple in his left cheek.....  
He's going to be running lines with John after school tomorrow.  
He does not remember actually agreeing to this but it seems like he is.  
How does John do things like this......  
Social interactions come so easy to him.  
Even with Sherlock.  
Nerdy Sherlock......Sherlock who nobody ever notices......who doesn't have any friends......  
and now he's having a social get together with not one but two of his classmates after school tomorrow......

He stares at John some more. 

John does catch him looking this time and whatever it is he sees on Sherlock's face makes his smile turn just a bit wider. 

“See you tomorrow then, yeah?” John says.

Sherlock just nods. 

“See you tomorrow!” Molly says. 

John waves at her and leaves. Sherlock just stares down at his phone. 

***********************************

When Sherlock gets home he makes a B-line straight for his bedroom.  
He cannot run into Mycroft right now.  
His older brother is like a bloodhound. He'll take one look at Sherlock and he'll just know.  
He'll know something fundamentally had changed. He'll ask questions.  
Questions Sherlock is not willing to answer. Questions he's not even sure he knows the answers to. 

And so he just sits in his room and when Mycroft calls him down for dinner he says he's not hungry and just sits on his bed until the room darkens around him.  
His phone is in his hand.  
He's looking at the screen.  
His contact-list is opened.  
He feels like he's dreaming.  
He's not dreaming.  
He's awake.  
There it is. 

_John Watson_

John put his name in his phone. Last name and all. And looking at the number it doesn't even seem to be a fake number either.  
John's, probably real, number is in his phone. 

He could call John. 

He will never call John. 

But he can look at his number. At his name. 

And remember John held this phone in his hand, pushed the buttons and put it there. 

Sherlock sighs.  
Tomorrow will be.....interesting.

********************************

The roles get divided and of course Sherlock gets to be Puck. No real surprise there. He always gets the part he wants.  
Molly gets to be Helena. No real surprise there either. Sherlock hates to admit it, but she actually is quite good at acting....from time to time. 

The real surprise of the day is John.  
John, Shakespeare murdering-cannot act to save his life-John, is cast as Demetrius. One of the leads in the play. Helena's love interest.  
Molly squeals and Sherlock just rolls his eyes.  
It seems that not even Mrs. Scott is immune to John's popularity and good looks. It cannot possibly have been the performance he gave yesterday that has landed him this role. 

The duration of the class is spent reading through everybody's lines and asking Mrs. Scott questions about their respective characters. Sherlock tries to stay away from John as much as possible.  
Maybe John will forget about their line-reading appointment. (He will _not_ call it a date. Not even in his own mind). 

It is still an absolute mystery to him why on earth John would ask him to come along.  
He spends the afternoon pondering the subject as he keeps on looking at John from the corner of his eye.

And then it hits him. 

John is standing next to Molly.  
Again.  
They are sharing a text-book.  
Molly giggles as John's shoulder brushes against her and John gives her a half-smile. 

Is a girl the reason why John is in theater-class after all? 

Does he like Molly? 

But then....why ask Sherlock along? Maybe he just did that so Molly wouldn't say no.....  
Once again Sherlock's thoughts drift to John's number in his phone.  
The number looked real enough.....

The class is almost over now.  
He takes his phone out of his back-pocket. Maybe John has sent him a text, asking him to cancel on their joined line-reading session so he can be alone with Molly.  
There is no text.  
There is nothing.  
Maybe John just assumes he won't be going?  
Some secret agreement between guys he's supposed to know about when girls are involved?  
But...Sherlock has never been in a situation like this before. He doesn't know how to handle girls. He doesn't know how to handle guys who like girls.  
All of a sudden he feels the cold sting of jealousy again. A small, dark part of his heart wishes John would put this much effort into courting him and not Molly....  
But he knows better than to listen to it.  
He leaves it in the dark and closes a door on it.  
He sighs.  
Once class is over he'll just tell John and Molly he can't come. Pretend he's not feeling well or something. 

“Are you coming, Sherlock?”

John's voice shakes him out of his gloomy thoughts.  
Apparently class is already over.....he hadn't realized.  
John is standing in front of him. A big smile on his face. Eyes blazing blue and full of light.  
Molly is standing further back. Packing her bag. 

“I....”, Sherlock says, but any words he was planning to say die in his mouth. 

“Molly and I decided to go do our read-through at the little coffee-place down the road. But only if you'd like that too......if you don't like that idea we can just stay here.....it's all fine with me.....I mean......”

Sherlock feels like such a weakling but he cannot say no to John. He is irresistible in every sense of the word.  
So instead of saying he's unwell or saying his brother expects him home or....literally any viable excuse under the sun he just nods and says: “yeah, sure....that's......fine.”

“Great!”, John says, “come on then!” 

And as John walks away Sherlock follows.

*********************************************

They are sitting at a table in the small coffee-place down the road. There are not many people in at the moment so they pretty much have the back of the place to themselves. Molly, John and Sherlock.  
It's nice.  
It's cozy.  
John got them all coffee.  
Sherlock sips his.  
He's not sure why John wants him here.  
Maybe he's too shy to spend time with Molly on his own.  
Is Sherlock his wingman now?  
He's never been anyone's wingman.  
He likes and hates it at the same time. 

John messes up one of his lines....again, and Molly giggles as she twirls her hair between her fingers.....again.  
The amount of flirting going on is unreal and Sherlock feels like the biggest third wheel in the history of the world.  
He sips his coffee.  
He has to admit, they do make a good cup of coffee here.

“I think we should move on to a scene that has Puck in it”, he hears John say.  
Awfully nice of John to try and include him a little bit at least but it's not necessary. He'll just not come along if they plan to do this again next week. He knows when he's not wanted. After all, he's got a lifetime of experience of it. 

Molly, of course, agrees with John. Because she agrees with everything John says or does. She's so obviously gone on him it's painful to watch.  
Sherlock takes another sip of his coffee. Somehow it doesn't taste quite as good anymore. 

They decide to move on to act two, scene one. Puck has a lot of lines in it. Sherlock is actually relieved he gets to do some reading. It'll take his mind off of John and Molly. And their flirting....and how that makes him feel. 

He doesn't really need to look at the text. All of the lines are in his head already. He looks down at it anyway. He cannot bear to look at John right now. Looking at John makes his chest feel tight and his thoughts go muddy and jumbled.

And so he looks down and pretends to read as he says:  
_“The king doth keep his revels here to-night:  
Take heed the queen come not within his sight..._

Once again his words flow like a refreshing breeze on a hot day. From the corner of his eye he can see John smiling at him.  
He feels his chest warm up. He knows he shouldn't feel quite so affected. It's not smart. He shouldn't feel the way he feels about John. This will end in disappointment and heartbreak. But still. He cannot help the way he feels about John just like he cannot stop the sun from rising or the night from falling.  
John is a force of nature that he is utterly and completely helpless to.  
All this time he has been silently wishing for an apocalypse but what if John is his apocalypse....because, surely, one of these days, he will be the end of him. 

Sherlock finishes the last of his lines and Molly lets out a small “yay” as John just beams at him.

“You're so good, Sherlock”, Molly says.

“Yeah, you make a great fairy”, John adds. 

And then John realizes what he has said. Surely someone at theater-class has, by now, told him Sherlock is the one and only “out” gay kid at school. “Fairy” might not be the best way to describe him. Sherlock is used to these kinds of terms though. He shouldn't be so affected by it but somehow he is.  
His face falls and John's eyes grow wide. 

“Oh! No....I didn't mean.....no...”, John says, “god....Sherlock.......that came out wrong.....”

Sherlock shifts in his chair uncomfortably. Either John is purposefully messing with him or he is really so endearingly naive that he doesn't realize that using the term “coming out” after you've called your only gay classmate a “great fairy” might not be the best combination of words. 

It takes John a second or two but then he catches on to his second mistake. 

“No....no....that's not what I meant either”, John stammers, “I mean you're good at....this.” he gestures at the table. At the books. At the both of them.  
Sherlock didn't think it was possible but John is actually blushing now. It is entirely too good a look on him and Sherlock feels confused and unsure and unsure about what he's actually confused about. 

“I need to go home”, he says and shoves his book in his bag as he gets up from the table. 

John, blushing, endearing, entirely too cute and good looking John gets up too. Molly remains seated. Utterly confused. 

Sherlock refuses to look John in the eye. If he does he'll blush too and now where would that leave them.  
With all the willpower he has in him he makes his legs carry him to the door.  
John follows him and actually catches up to him just as he reaches the exit. 

“Listen, Sherlock”, John says, “I'm really sorry. Sometimes I talk but don't actually think. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“It's fine”, Sherlock says. And it _is_ fine. It's all fine. He's not mad at John. If anything he likes John even more now. His bumbling through Shakespeare is utterly endearing. How flustered he feels after thinking he has offended Sherlock is nothing but charming and Sherlock feels himself falling head over heels in love with this blond haired, blue eyed, rugby champion again.  
After months and months of talking himself out of love with John.  
He cannot allow himself to do this.  
John doesn't like him that way.  
John will never like him that way.  
John has a girlfriend and apparently fancies Molly too.  
He is setting himself up for a world of hurt and he is not sure he's ready for that. 

“I just have to go home”, he says again. 

John just nods and actually opens the door for him.  
Damn, chivalrous Rugby John. 

Sherlock would hate him if he wasn't so in love with him. 

******************************

This time when he gets home Mycroft is actually there.  
Waiting for him as he opens the door.  
As if this day couldn't get any worse. 

“Where have you been?”, Mycroft asks in that haughty tone Sherlock absolutely abhors. He's pretty sure Mycroft is doing it on purpose. 

“Out.” he replies.

“School ended hours ago.”

“I was running lines for the school play.” 

“With who?”

“I know people.”

“Yes, but none of them usually want to spend time with you of their own volition.”

Sherlock doesn't reply and stares at his shoes. 

“What are their names?” Mycroft asks. 

Sherlock just wishes his brother would leave him alone. Wouldn't pry so much. He has half a mind of not answering. But not answering will only turn it into more of a mystery and there is nothing Mycroft likes more than a Mystery. He'll never leave him be then....  
So in the end he just opts for the truth and hopes it'll satiate his brother for the time being. 

“Molly and John”, he says. Trying to sound nonchalant. 

“John? There's never been a John in your theater group before. Is he new?”

This time Sherlock does try for a lie. “You probably forgot”, he says. 

“I never forget anything.”

“Yet another thing you and elephants have in common.”  
When all else fails he tends to bring up Mycroft's weight. He knows his brother is very sensitive about it and it is a low blow but maybe it'll be just enough for him to drop the subject. 

“Very mature, Sherlock”, Mycroft says as he sighs and steps back. 

“I'm going to bed.”

“It's 7 pm.....”

“I'm tired.”  
Sherlock brushes past his brother, up the stairs and to his room. Mycroft lets him go.

 

**************************

It is 10:47pm.  
Sherlock is lying on his bed. He's still fully clothed, on his back on top of the covers staring at the ceiling.  
His phone is in his hand.  
He's been here for hours.  
He's not tired in the least.  
The events of the day keep playing through his mind over and over again like a movie. 

John.

John smiling at him. 

John going red.

John flustered.

John's stammered apology. 

John opening the door for him.

John......

He lets out an aggravated groan.  
Why do feelings have to be so complicated.  
He can tell himself time and time again that John does not love him and never will but it does nothing for the fluttery feeling in his chest every time he looks down at John's name in his phone's contact-list and he thinks of sea-blue eyes and messy hair. 

He should delete John's number......

His thumb hovers over the delete button. 

He should......spare himself the pain. 

He probably should....

His phone buzzes in his hand. 

It's a text. 

Nobody ever texts him.  
Well, Mycroft texts him on occasion, but only when his brother doesn't know where he is.  
He's pretty sure Mycroft knows exactly where he is at the moment. 

Confused he squints his eyes as he looks at the brightly lit screen in the darkness of his bedroom. 

It's a text from John. 

All of a sudden he feels even more awake than he already was. He quickly hoists himself up into a sitting position in the middle of his bed. The blankets get tangled up around his legs as he does so but he doesn't care.  
With trembling fingers he opens the message. 

_Hey Sherlock. I'm still so sorry about this afternoon. I really didn't mean anything by what I said. I'm so dumb sometimes. I just really think you're awesome at Shakespeare. John._

Sherlock blinks his eyes a couple of times but the text doesn't change. It's definitely real.  
John sent him that. Just now.  
John is thinking about him at.....he checks his phone's clock.....10:53pm. 

He swallows. There's a lump the size of a peach in his throat. He starts typing out a reply. His hands won't stop shaking. 

**It's fine, John. All is forgiven. SH**

He looks at his text. He always signs with his initials so he's done so this time as well....without even thinking....will John think it's stupid?  
Will John even reply anymore?  
Is this enough to calm his guilty conscience?  
Maybe he's gone to text Molly now......

His phone buzzes again. 

_I'll be more careful of what I say next time ;-)_

Next time......  
Does John want him to come along next time as well?  
Or maybe he's giving him an opportunity to cancel so he can be alone with Molly next week....

 **I'm not sure if I can make it next week. SH**  
Sherlock types out. His hands are positively sweaty now. He's not sure what he wants John to answer....if he even wants John to answer at all. 

_Oh no! Do you have to be somewhere else? We can change it to another day. Did you not like the coffee place? We won't have to go there again if you don't want to. We need you theRE._

It seems as if John has accidentally turned on his caps-lock halfway through the last word. Sherlock smiles down at the screen.  
How can he say no to John when even in his texts he's being utterly adorable. 

**I can probably change some of my plans around. I'll probably be able to make it**

Too late he realizes he's forgotten to sign his text this time. 

_Whew...okay....great! We need our Puk there!_

**Puck is spelled with a “C”. SH**

_See! We need you ;-)_

**I guess you do. SH**

_See you next week then?_

**Okay**

_Deal! Good night, Sherlock_

**Good night, John.**

Sherlock turns of the screen of his phone and places it on his nightstand.  
He still can't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this awkward enough?


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock finds himself in chemistry class.  
He also finds he cannot concentrate on his work.  
John, seated a couple of rows in front of him, keeps on turning around and looking back at him.  
It's annoying and Sherlock wishes he'd stop.  
Because, how can he secretly watch John if John is already watching _him_.

At the moment the teacher, Mr. Sanderson, has his back turned towards the class. He is writing down some sort of equation on the blackboard.  
Sherlock had completely lost the thread of today's class somewhere around the third time John turned around and smiled at him but at the moment he's trying his very best to figure out what the symbols on the blackboard mean so he can pick it up again.  
Carry on with his life.  
To no avail it would seem because John decides to turn around again.  
A soft smile forms on his lips when he sees Sherlock staring back at him.  
Sherlock is sure some sort of answering expression forms on his own face but what it is exactly he has no clue.  
He seems to have lost all control of his facial muscles and his mind is all jumbled up.  
And it's all John's fault.  
It's those blue eyes, he tells himself.  
Hard to concentrate when those are burning a hole right through your soul.  
Whatever expression it is that has formed on his face however, it seems to be a socially acceptable one because, at the sight of it, John's own smile widens.  
He even leans further towards Sherlock and it's almost as if he's about to say something.... 

“Mister Watson!”

What he was going to say Sherlock will sadly never know.  
Apparently Mr. Sanderson has finished his equation. 

“This is the third time I find you facing the wrong end of the classroom. Care to share with the rest of the class what is so captivating back there?”

John turns back towards his desk sheepishly but is quick to turn on his trademark “John-charm” as his beaming smile is now directed at their teacher 

“Sorry, sir”, he says, “won't happen again.”

Mr. Sanderson just raises an eyebrow questioningly but decides to leave it at that and goes back to writing on the blackboard. He's never been too good at discipline. 

The boy seated next to John, Greg, one of John's friends and also on the rugby team, bumps John with his elbow and whispers something to him.  
Whatever he has just said seems to embarrass John because he turns bright-red and slumps lower in his chair.

The next time someone turns around in their chair and grins at Sherlock it's not John but Greg.  
He quickly gives Sherlock a knowing smile and a wink before he turns back around and John slumps even lower in his chair.  
Sherlock is even more confused now.  
Is this a joke he's supposed to be in on?  
Is _he_ the joke?  
He hopes he isn't.  
Usually when his classmates make fun of him they're more......direct.  
Like that one time they spray painted “faggot” all over the door to his locker.... with waterproof paint.....he spent an entire afternoon with the janitor trying to get it cleaned off. You can still see the outline of the letters very faintly if you squint.  
He's taped a picture of the periodic table of elements over it.  
When his usual bullies saw the picture they called him a nerd....still.....he'll take “nerd” over “faggot”. So all in all it was an improvement. 

He really hopes Greg isn't planning to pull a prank on him..... or spray paint his locker again.  
He doesn't have an entire afternoon to spare. Not with the school play coming up.  
Greg has never picked on him before though.  
And he can't imagine John would...... that would be too cruel.  
And besides: at this point they've been practicing their lines together after school for about two months. He's pretty sure that if John wanted to hurt him he would have done it by now.  
A two month planning period seems a bit excessive.

He tries focusing on Mr. Sanderson again but it seems that the class has already ended.  
John and Greg are leaving the class-room together and John throws him one more warm smile before he ducks his head.....almost shy....and heads through the door.

Sherlock stays seated for a couple moments more. There's only so much of John smiling at him he can take before his legs turn to jelly.  
He breathes in deep and tries to collect himself.  
When he looks down at his notebook he realizes that all he's done this entire class is write down John's name... six times......  
He's just relieved to find he hasn't added any hearts....or swirls.  
Then where would he be.  
He takes another deep breath and closes his notebook.  
One more day until the next theater-class. 

******************

John hasn't missed a single one of their post-class practice sessions. And every single time he's asked Sherlock to come along.  
Sherlock doesn't really understand why.  
By now, even to John, it has to be overtly clear that Molly really, _really_ likes him. He shouldn't need Sherlock as a wingman anymore.  
And yet, every time Mrs. Scott claps her hands and proclaims the class is over for now, that they should practice hard and that she'll see them all back next week, John comes walking up to Sherlock, smile on his face, hair delightfully mussed, hands in his pockets and asks: “are you coming?” 

Sherlock always says yes.  
He finds it is physically impossible to say no to John Watson.  
Must be one of the lessor known laws of physics.  
Like Newton's third law: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  
In this case the action being “John wants something” and the reaction “Sherlock always says yes”.  
He feels like such an idiot sometimes.  
Pining after John while John is doing his very best to woo Molly. 

Like, for example, how John always gets her coffee. They still practice at the coffee-place. It has become “their place” now.  
John always gets them all a cup of coffee as soon as they arrive. He had remembered the way Sherlock took his (black two sugars) by the second time they went there but he always seems to forget how Molly takes hers (just milk...even Sherlock knows this by now. John takes his with milk and sugar....a lot of sugar.... not that that's important).  
Sherlock is pretty sure John is just pretending to forget how Molly takes her coffee. Just so he can ask her again. 

And then there's the door-holding.  
John always holds the door for Molly.  
Sure, he holds the door for Sherlock too but that's just because it would probably be rude to hold the door for Molly and then let it fall in his face. 

And then there's also the way they sit. John usually sits next to Molly, directly opposite to Sherlock.  
Sherlock's never actually seen him steal secret glances at her but he gathers he's probably too shy to do so. Sitting so close to her.  
After all, if he still needs Sherlock there to work up the courage to sit close to Molly then looking at her is probably a step too far.  
How John even got a girlfriend in the first place is beyond him.  
He realizes he hasn't seen Mary together with John for quite a while now.  
Maybe they're having trouble now that John is spending so much time with Molly.....he doesn't know and he doesn't want to ask. He is not interested in John's romantic relationships with girls. Thinking about it makes his heart hurt and besides, it's really none of his business. 

During their actual classes Sherlock always does his very best to stay as far away from John as he possibly can.  
He's trying to stick to his resolution to try and not fall in love with John any deeper than he already has. If he falls any further he might not be able to ever get up again.  
And so he usually makes sure he arrives late to avoid pre-class socializing and he always makes sure he's on the opposite end of the room from wherever John is during the class itself.  
One time when Mrs. Scott told them to team up with another student for an improvisation exercise and he saw John come walking towards him with a half-smile on his face that could only mean trouble, he had panicked and had grabbed the closest student to him.  
Irene had been very confused at first but had quickly just settled into the situation. John had ended up teaming up with Molly.  
Deep down Sherlock knew he should be glad about this but still.....somewhere inside him a feeling of jealousy stirred again. 

The only times where he actually interacted with John during their class was when Mrs. Scott made them go through scenes where they both had lines.  
Those moments could not be helped he supposed but to Sherlock they were nothing short of agony.  
Especially since, on occasion, they are followed by scenes between John and Molly.  
Demetrius and Helena.  
The two lovers.  
Sherlock knows he should be glad for them. After all, he's been trying to help John get with Molly for the past two months.  
But still.  
Part of him wishes Puck's magical flower juice was a real thing and he could use it to make John truly see him and steal him away from the women John seems to prefer. 

He has to admit though that John's acting is getting better. His diction is improving, he's not mixing his lines up so much anymore and sometimes he's even able to put some form of feeling into the words he's speaking. 

John is on the stage right now. They're practicing act three: 

_”O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?_  
_Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe._ ”  
But instead of looking at Sarah, who plays Hermia, he's looking at Sherlock who's line as Puck: 

_”This is the woman, but not this the man.”_  
was directly before that. 

It looks like he'll have to talk to John about proper stage directions when they're at the coffee-place this afternoon.  
He lets his mind wander.  
He doesn't have any lines for a little while yet.  
He finds that their afternoons together have quickly become the highlight of his week. And how could they not?  
It is the only time he permits himself to be close to John.  
He sure is going to be sad when it's over. But it will end sometime. That's a fact that can not be changed. Either it will end after they perform the play for the entire school......or when John and Molly get together and John will have no more need of him.  
But end, it will. 

*********************

Once again the three of them are seated at their usual table drinking coffee. Molly is already flipping through the pages of her book to find which part she wants to practice.  
John seems....absent.  
He has been so all day.  
He's been messing up a lot of his lines again.....missing his cues.....  
Sherlock is not sure what's going on with him. 

John still gets them coffee but instead of asking Molly what she wants this time he just forgot her order entirely.  
He apologized when he realized his mistake and went back to get Molly a coffee too but when he returned he'd gotten her a black coffee with sugar instead of the coffee with milk she usually drinks.  
Molly doesn't comment on it but she scrunches her nose every time she takes a sip and ends up only drinking half of it. 

They're about an hour into their session when John suddenly, and completely out of nowhere, says:  
“So...Eric's having a party tomorrow night.”

Molly is immediately enthusiastic.  
“I heard!”, she exclaims, “he always has the best parties...but I never get invited.”

Sherlock has no idea why John is bringing this up.  
The scene they've been reading through has nothing to do with parties. They've never had a conversation about parties before and he only half knows who “Eric” is.......he thinks Eric has brown curly hair and glasses....but that also might be Rob....or Dan....  
Yeah, he definitely doesn't know who Eric is. 

John smiles a nervous smile and he can't seem to be able to keep his hands still as he continuously folds and unfolds the same page of his book.  
It's making Sherlock nervous too and he has a growing urge to reach out and stop John's hand from moving.  
He doesn't. But only just. 

“Well...Eric's on the rugby team so I'm invited”, John says, “I thought maybe I could bring you and we could go....together....”

He gives Sherlock a small smile before quickly casting his eyes back down to his book. Only now does he seem to realize what his hands have been doing and he quickly smooths out the page and closes his book. 

“Yesssss!” Molly shouts as she throws both her arms in the air. John flinches slightly at the loudness of her voice.  
He seems so nervous...  
Sherlock, for the life of him, can't figure out why.  
John goes to numerous parties. Sherlock should know. He used to follow him around to said parties....that is...until “The Incident” happened. He wills himself not to think on “The Incident”. Not right now. Not now that John is sitting right in front of him, talking about parties, looking at him expectantly. 

“Sherlock?” he says. 

“What?” Scherlock's most eloquent reply. 

“Will you come too?”

It breaks his heart to have to say no but he positively can _not_ go to a party where John is anymore. Especially not if it's a party where John is only going to get with Molly.  
He remembers the last time he saw John at a party with a girl.  
It had been Mary then.  
They had been standing pressed against each other, John's hands casually stuffed in the back pockets of Mary's jeans. Pulling her closer. Kissing her softly on the lips until the kiss wasn't quite so soft anymore.  
She had smiled and john had kissed her again.  
Sherlock had drank another beer.

He's pretty sure he can't handle another evening like that. He couldn't even handle the last one. That one had ended up with him throwing up all over John, the side of the road and, almost, the inside of Mycroft's car.  
He still winces when he thinks of the splitting headache he had woken up with the next morning.  
But the headache had been nothing compared to the hollow feeling that had opened up in his chest like a chasm. 

No matter how much John needs him as his wingman and no matter how much he wants John to be happy, this is something he finds he cannot do. 

He shakes his head.  
“I can't”, he says. 

John's smile falls and he opens his book again, folding and unfolding the pages. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it again. 

“Please”, John says and a tiny piece of Sherlock's heart starts to crack, breaks off and wedges itself in between his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe, “it won't be any fun without you. You'll have a good time....I promise!”

Once again John is staring at him. His eyes beseeching and enchanting and once again Sherlock finds it hard to refuse to do anything John asks of him but this time.....he just can't …..he can't.....

So, in the end, he takes the cowards way out and gives John some kind of half promise. 

“I'll try to come”, he says. 

John exhales and smooths the page of his book out again. A small smile forms around his lips and another piece of Sherlock's heart breaks off and shatters because he knows he's lied to John.  
He won't be there tomorrow. But for now John seems happy so he pretends to be happy too. 

When they leave about 20 minutes later John holds the door for him and Molly again. 

“See you tomorrow evening, yeah?” he asks as Sherlock walks by him. 

Sherlock gives him a sort of half nod.  
John smiles and Sherlock walks home as fast as he can.  
He's sure John will be fine without him. He'll have Molly. 

***************************************

It's the evening of the party and Sherlock is sat at the dinner table with Mycroft.  
The sight of the food in front of him is making him nauseous.  
Neither he nor Mycroft have said anything for the last couple of minutes and the silence that hangs between them is an uncomfortable one.  
Finally it's Mycroft who decides to break it. 

“You've barely touched your food”, his brother says. 

Sherlock feels tense and uncomfortable for reasons he's not quite sure and so he decides to try and spoil for a fight. Fighting with Mycroft is always a nice distraction. 

“Maybe _you_ should try not eating for once”, he says, “might help with your diet.”

Mycroft lets out a long sigh while he closes his eyes and his fingers massage his temples.  
“Must you always be this contrary?” he says. 

Sherlock shoves his food around on his plate but still doesn't eat any of it.  
“When are mum and dad coming back?” he ends up saying. 

Mycroft sighs again.  
“I don't know”, he says, “they've tacked another two months onto their business trip to India. I told you this last week. Might be a while before they return.”

“Guess I'm stuck with you and your horrible cooking for a while longer then.”  
Sherlock shoves his plate away decidedly. 

“What is going on with you lately, Sherlock?”

“You tell me.”

“For the love of.....”, by now his brother has stopped eating as well. Sherlock can feel him getting aggravated.  
_Good_ he thinks. 

“Like it or not”, Mycroft says, “for as long as our parents are out of the country, until you turn eighteen in a little under two years, I'm your legal guardian.”

“Maybe that's why I've turned out so shitty then.”

“Sherlock....”

“I'm going to my room.”

“Sherlock!”

Suddenly he's not in the mood for fighting anymore.  
He feels awful because he knows John is at a party putting the moves on Molly and when they come back tomorrow as girlfriend and boyfriend John will most likely not want to spend as much time with Sherlock anymore....or any time at all.  
He also feels terrible because he's gone off on Mycroft like that. Mycroft doesn't deserve it. He tries. But, because of their current situation, he's also been forced into the role of the parent and Sherlock doesn't need a parent right now.  
He needs his brother. There are a lot of times where he misses his brother.  
The way they used to talk.  
How they used to understand each other.  
He hasn't been able to understand Mycroft for a long time.  
He misses his brother.....he misses John.....and he hasn't even lost him yet.....but he will....it's just a matter of time.  
And with every second that passes he can feel John and his warm smiles slip away from between his fingers like sand.  
It's making his stomach twist in knots and the inside of his mouth taste like bile and ash.  
And so he can't eat tonight.....won't eat.  
He can't tell Mycroft this and so he just spews his acidic remarks towards him in an attempt to get rid of some of the bile and hurt that are threatening to suffocate him.  
It doesn't seem to have worked. 

So he sits on his bed again. All the lights are out. He prefers darkness right now. His phone is in his hand and John's number is still in his contact-list. He'll delete it tomorrow. 

***********************

Sherlock suddenly wakes up. He was having a strange dream where he actually was Puck and he was using the flower from “A Midsummer Night's Dream” to turn everyone around him into John. 

It takes him a second or two to realize he's fallen asleep on his bed, fully clothed, with his phone in his hand. The clock on his nightstand lets him know it's 11:32pm.

The phone in his hand is ringing. This is what has woken him up from his dream.  
On the screen the name “John Watson” can be seen.

_John_

John is calling him.....

John is calling.....

John.

He's not sure if he should pick up or not. There's a sinking feeling in his stomach that tells him this will not be good news. Maybe John and Molly are calling him together....asking him to delete John's number....or asking him to not come to the coffee-place next week....

But...what if this is the last time he actually gets to talk to John.  
In that case he _has_ to pick up. 

He makes up his mind and with a frantic movement he accepts the call and presses the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he says. Briefly he wonders if he should have added his name but if John is calling _him_ he's pretty sure John can guess who it is that just picked up. 

“Hey, Sherlock”, John's voice is gravely, as if he's tired, and there is a hint of sadness that clings to the edges of his words. 

_Please no_ Sherlock thinks as he steels himself for the inevitable rejection. 

And as words seem to die on Sherlock's tongue, John carries on talking:

“You weren't at the party”, he says. 

“I don't go to parties”, Sherlock replies, “I don't fit in.”

“You used to go.”

“Hence why I know I don't fit in.”

John let's out a short and soft laugh. There is no joy in it.  
They're both quiet for a moment before John, suddenly, changes the subject completely: 

“The rehearsals are going well, don't you think?”

Sherlock remains quiet. He doesn't quite know what to say to this. Doesn't know where John is going with this exactly. 

John let's out another small laugh.  
“Well....your part anyway”, he adds. 

Sherlock can't help but smile just a little. He feels like now is as good a time as any to ask John what he wants to know. Here in the darkness of his bedroom before he'll never get to talk to him again but he doesn't quite know how to say it so instead he asks:

“Why did you sign up for drama class?”

He hopes the meaning of his words comes across but he very much doubts it does. 

John is quiet for a while. Sherlock is wondering if maybe he's hung up on him but then John says: 

“If you could make someone fall in love with you....like in the play.....would you?”

Sherlock doesn't understand what John is asking of him exactly and so he doesn't know what to answer either and so he decides to answer true at least and says: 

“I.....don't know.”

“I would.”  
John says. 

Sherlock is beyond confused now. 

“But.....you don't have to....” he says. 

“How so?” Johns reply. 

“You.....you have Mary. You already have your love.”

Another small laugh from John. Again, there is no joy in it and it makes Sherlock feel cold all over. 

“Mary and I broke up a couple of months ago.”

“Why?” It's probably none of his business and he won't blame John if he decides not to tell him but John answers quickly and with surprising honesty:

“I told her I was starting to develop feelings for someone else.”

“Oh....” Sherlock thinks of Molly and he feels even colder still. 

“They don't love me back though.....at least I don't think they do......”  
John laughs again and Sherlock wishes he could make him stop doing that.  
He doesn't quite know what to say and so it is John who carries on the conversation once again: 

“Is there someone in your life? Someone you....like?”

Since John has been so honest Sherlock feels like he owes him the truth....or as much of it as he can bear to divulge. 

“Yes”, he says, “but I don't think he likes me in that way either.”  
It feels good to get it out in the open. Finally speak out what has been gnawing at his heart and soul for months now but it also hurts. It hurts like nothing he's ever felt before because, speaking it, takes it from his mind to the world and makes it real. There's no going back on it now. He loves John, John does not love him. John loves another. And now they've both said it and cannot take it back. 

Sherlock sighs. Audibly. He doesn't care if John hears it. John sighs as well. 

“I'm sorry to hear that”, John says, “his loss, really.....you're amazing, you know that, right?”

“An amazing fairy, you mean?” Sherlock says and this time John's laugh is lighter and more real and the weight pressing on Sherlock's chest lifts just a tiny fraction. 

“That too....yeah...Puck with a “C””

This time Sherlock laughs too. He's not really sure why. That wasn't even a joke. 

“Are you coming to read lines again after our next class?” John asks and the weight on Sherlock's chest lifts even further. Not the end after all then. 

“Of course”, he hears himself say but it is as if another is speaking through his mouth. 

“Great, I'll see you there then, yeah?.....It's late.....we should probably both go to bed.”

“I'm already in bed”, Sherlock says. He doesn't know why. Just making conversation. He's not good at “social”. He's not sure why John is even still on the phone with him. 

John makes a sound he can't place. 

“Good night, Sherlock. Sweet dreams”, John says. 

“Good night, John.”

They both hang up. 

Sherlock stares up at the darkness hiding his ceiling.  
Seems like John and Molly didn't get together after all then.  
He's not even sure anymore if Molly even is John's “secret crush”.  
He's pretty sure that, in her mind, Molly is already planning their wedding so he'd hardly call that a love unrequited. 

Maybe John likes another girl then....but who.......he can't think of a single person.  
But then again....he has been staring himself blind on John and Molly. He's probably missed the obvious.  
He feels as if part of him should be happy that John and Mary are no longer together and that he's having no luck with this other girl he likes. But he can't seem to bring himself to feel anything but sadness and sympathy for John.  
John had sounded so sad.  
Heartbroken almost.  
John should never be sad.  
John should be happy.....and smiling.....and radiant. 

He vows to himself to do everything in his power to help John get the girl he wants....even if that means he'll end up breaking his own heart. 

It is what it is.....flowers that will magically make another love you don't exist. Only in stories. 

And if losing his own happiness means John will regain his that is a sacrifice he is more than willing to make. 

Now all he needs is a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this angst? This might be angst.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock has a plan.  
Granted, it's not a very good plan but after laying awake for almost the entire night it's all he has and he's tired and groggy and if this is what he's got to work with then so be it. 

He's figured out that John will probably not tell him outright who his secret crush is.  
If he had wanted to tell Sherlock he would have probably done so last night when they were talking on the phone.  
Phone-calls are less personal.  
There's that sort of impersonality to it, created by the distance and not having to look the other person in the eye, that makes it far easier to share secrets you otherwise would have kept to yourself.  
Add to that the late hour and John's strange emotional mood and Sherlock concludes that, if not last night, John is probably not going to give him a name were he to ask. 

And he's not going to ask.  
Not in the least bit because he also completely lacks the nerve to do so.  
He's having a hard enough time as it is talking to John about mundane things without his palms going all sweaty and his cheeks turning an alarming shade of red.  
He shudders at the thought of what a conversation about John's love-life will do to his physical and mental health. 

No.  
For his plan he's chosen a more stealthy route.  
Instead of staying as far away from John as he possibly can, as he has been doing up until now, he'll covertly watch him during their school days on every opportunity he gets to see who John hangs out with and who he seems to flirt with or...wants to flirt with.  
He's good at secretly watching John after all. He's got over a year of experience of it already. 

He has briefly entertained the thought that the person John likes isn't anyone at their school after all.  
Maybe an employee or regular patron at the coffee-place John was so adamant they'd go to but he quickly dismissed that theory.  
The only woman working at the coffee-place is well in her fifties and as far as regular customers are concerned: people John's age hardly ever hang out there at all. It's mostly businessmen on their way to work. All the “cool” kids seem to hang out at the local “Starbucks”. The coffee-place is usually pretty quiet. Which makes it an ideal location for practicing lines but not so much for meeting and seducing any eligible young ladies. 

Maybe someone not from their school or the coffee-place then.  
But then....why would John pick up an extra class like the drama-club which keeps him at school for even more hours than before. 

So, in conclusion, John likes someone at their school who doesn't like him back....apparently....Sherlock finds that last part hard to believe.  
And he still has absolutely no idea who it is. 

 

************************

Watching John is easy.  
It's like an old favourite coat that still fits perfectly. Its familiar scent and warmth bringing peace, calmness and happiness.  
Sherlock revels in it.  
He's secretly missed this.  
John, talking to his friends, laughing as one of them tells a joke.  
The way he throws his head back and shakes his head. The dimple in his cheek most visible when John is truly at ease and happy.  
Such a stark contrast from the John he spoke to on the phone the other night.  
His heart still breaks when he remembers the sadness that had clung to every word.  
He never wants John to feel that way again.  
This is how he wants John to be.  
Carefree.  
In his element. 

John is surrounded by all male friends at the moment though.  
No sign of his secret crush, who Sherlock, for the duration of his current research, has dubbed “Person X”. 

They're having lunch in the school cafeteria.  
Sherlock usually takes his lunch alone in an empty classroom.....for obvious reasons.  
At least a couple of those reasons are sitting at the table with John at this very moment.  
But today he's made an exception. The sooner he finds out who “Person X” is, the sooner he can help John stay this lovely, bright and radiant forever.......or.......for as long as possible at least.  
Having been exposed to more and more of John over the past couple of months might have turned him into a bit of a romantic but he's also still a realist.  
Nothing lasts forever. 

John is eating a sandwich and he's drinking from an actual, honest to God, juice-box.  
On occasion he bites the straw as he thinks something over that one of his friends has said.  
Sherlock unconsciously bites his own lower lip as John does so.  
He finds the sight utterly endearing and surprisingly personal on some level. 

All of a sudden he is startled out of his daydream about John, juice-boxes and something about his lower lip when he realizes that John has spotted him. 

Maybe he has lost his “John watching knack” just a small bit after all.  
John's eyes go big and an even bigger smile forms on his face.  
It is in that moment Sherlock just _knows_ John is going to wave him over.  
This would be a phenomenally bad idea.  
For one thing: observing John is like studying the sun. If you get too close you'll get blinded by it.  
And then there's also the fact that he's pretty sure that at least three of the guys at John's table are on his short-list of potential suspects who tagged his locker. 

No thank you. 

So, he gets up, turns around and walks out of the cafeteria as fast as he can get away with without actually running. 

***************************  
Sherlock only shares one class with John and in that class John is seated next to Greg.  
Both boys are having a hard time actually paying attention today.  
They keep whispering to each other and Greg keeps grinning at John while John seems to grow increasingly embarrassed as he slumps lower in his chair and tries to stop Greg from talking by hiding his face behind his hand.  
Sherlock bends forward over his desk as far as he dares in an attempt to catch at least some of their conversation.  
There might be a clue in there.  
The only words he does catch are John's.  
At one point he hisses: “just shut up, Greg.” After which he actually turns around, looks at Sherlock and gives him a very odd facial expression.  
It's somewhere between embarrassment, the guilt you feel when someone catches you doing something you shouldn't be doing and......something else. It is followed by a brief smile before John turns back to the front of the class, slumps even lower in his chair and Greg chuckles smugly as he prods John with his elbow, turns around as well and gives Sherlock a smug smile and.....was that an actual wink? 

Sherlock has never been more confused in his life. 

*********************

He follows John around the school hallways and he actually feels like some sort of spy as he does his very best to remain unseen. Hiding behind corners, other students and opened locker-doors.  
He is briefly reminded of John's love of James Bond and he smiles to himself. 

He is not gathering any useful information though and it is annoying.  
John only talks to his usual friends. Which are all male. And he does nothing out of the ordinary.  
At the end of the day John just puts all the books he doesn't need at home in his locker, packs his bag and leaves. 

Tomorrow they've got theater-class again. Maybe he'll find the answer there. 

******************

Nothing out of the ordinary happens during theater-class.  
They practice scenes, read lines, John teams up with Molly for another improv-excersice.  
But Sherlock has already ruled out Molly.  
He has half a mind of just going up to John and straight out asking him who “Person X” is after all..... but then he'd probably die of embarrassment....and then what good would the information do him. 

So he just watches Molly and John and goes through his own lines pretty much on autopilot and waits for the class to be over. 

When the class finally ends John doesn't immediately come over to him so they can head to the coffee-place together like he usually does.  
Instead he stays talking to Molly for a little while longer in the corner of the room where they are standing.  
Sherlock is, once again, too far away to hear what they are saying but Molly has the biggest smile on her face.  
John says something to her and her smile gets even bigger. She quickly hides it by slapping one of her hands over her mouth.  
John stares at his feet sheepishly as he continues talking.  
Molly nods vehemently. Still with that big smile on her face and then she actually _hugs_ John. 

God, he wishes he knew what they had been talking about.  
He briefly considers re-evaluating Molly as an option for “Person X” but no......it would make no logical sense.  
But maybe.....maybe Molly knows who “Person X” is. Maybe that's what she's so happy about.  
He'll have to try and ask her stealthily this afternoon. Maybe when John goes to get them their usual coffee....

He's so wrapped up in thinking of a way to ask Molly about “Person X” that he only realizes John is standing in front of him when he hears his voice. 

“Are you coming?” John says. 

For a moment Sherlock is confused. John is here but not....

“Where's Molly?” he asks.

Once again John looks down at his shoes just like he had done right before Molly had hugged him.  
Sherlock wishes he could hug John. Just once. He faintly remembers the smell of his skin and cologne on the night of “The Incident” when he had pressed his nose just.... _there_....but no.....probably best not to think on “The Incident” right now.  
It'll only make him nervous and unable to form coherent sentences around John.

John swallows and Sherlock bites his lip as he quickly moves his eyes away from John's throat and back to his face. 

John swallows again. 

Sherlock fervently hopes John didn't catch him staring. 

“Molly's not coming today”, John says, “it's.......her aunt......she's very sick.......guess it's just you and me then, huh?”  
John gives him a nervous smile and Sherlock thinks that Molly looked awfully cheery for a girl with a “very sick” aunt. He chooses not to comment on it.  
He is somewhat disappointed about not getting the opportunity to ask Molly about “Person X” but, on the other hand, the thought of getting to spend the entire afternoon alone with John doesn't sound too disagreeable.....not at all. 

So he just nods.  
“Okay”, he says, “let's go.”

The smile on John's face widens but there's still a nervous edge to it. 

****************************************

John is awfully quiet on their way to the coffee-place. He seems unusually nervous today and Sherlock almost asks him why that is but he's afraid that asking will either only make his nerves worse or he'll end up not liking the answer. 

When they reach the coffee-place, it's only a five minute walk from the school, John walks ahead and holds the door open for him. 

Oh....must be something he does for everyone then. 

They sit at their regular table. Only....without Molly there it feels like a different table entirely. 

John gets them both coffee. Black and two sugars for Sherlock and milk and a lot of sugar (it seems like he's put even more sugar than usual in there today) for John. They decide to dive right in and start practicing lines.  
John urges Sherlock to do a couple of his scenes first while he just listens. 

“It's because you're so good”, he says. Which Sherlock finds a somewhat strange way of reasoning. If he's so good then why would he still need to practice? Would it not make more sense if John did most of the reading.  
Once again he just decides to not comment on it. Mostly because John seems to still be a bit nervous and his hands shake ever so slightly as he drinks his coffee. 

As the afternoon progresses the tremble in John's hands disappears. He seems to be a lot more at ease and does some reading of his own.  
Maybe he just had low blood sugar, Sherlock thinks. 

John asks him to read a couple of Helena's lines now that Molly isn't here.  
John's character, Demetrius, and Helena have a lot of scenes together after all.  
Sherlock happily complies. 

“ _So methinks:_  
_And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,_  
_Mine own, and not mine own._ ”  
Sherlock reads. 

The next line is Demetrius' but John doesn't seem to be aware of that fact.  
He's looking at Sherlock instead of his book. 

“John?” Sherlock prods him. 

John seems startled. As if Sherlock has just woken him up from some kind of daydream.  
Which is somewhat funny as Demetrius' next line is actually _“Are you sure that we are awake?”_.  
Sherlock just smiles.  
He's pretty sure that, no matter where his life will take him after this, this here, this afternoon will always be the best day of his entire life.  
John looks more handsome than he has ever been as the afternoon light that filters through the window makes his hair look like spun gold and accentuates his eyelashes as John demurely casts his eyes down.  
His lips are full and soft and now slightly damp as he briefly licks them as he searches his book for what Demetrius is supposed to say now.  
To Sherlock he looks like utter perfection and he knows he's falling deeper and deeper in love with John again.  
Past some point of no return.  
The exact thing he had vowed not to do.  
But here, in this perfect moment, he finds that he does not care.  
He'll worry about it later.  
When he's alone again. 

“Maybe we should take a break”, John says. 

Sherlock just nods. How can he even find words when faced with so much perfection. 

“Another coffee?” John asks.

His stomach feels queasy and he's not sure if he can handle eating or drinking anything at the moment but he says yes anyway. 

At this point John can basically ask him just about anything and he's pretty sure he would say yes to it all. 

****************************************

They sit together, drinking their second cup of coffee.  
The silence between them a companionable one.  
Sherlock wishes this afternoon would never have to end.  
He feels a small bit guilty towards Molly.  
It's not that he doesn't like her and doesn't want her around.....it's just....this is the first time he's ever gotten to just....be....like this....with John.  
The two of them.  
He finds he likes it quite a lot.  
He also realizes there is danger in that statement. 

“So”, John says, as he leans back in his chair, his shirt pulled tight across his chest. Sherlock has to put his coffee cup down. “What do you like to do for fun?”

“I....” Sherlock stammers. Clutching his coffee between both of his hands where he has placed it on the table in front of him. 

John laughs. Sherlock wishes he could bottle up the sound of it and listen to it time and time again when he finds himself alone once more.  
“I know you don't do parties”, John says, “and I'm sorry if I put pressure on you to go if you really didn't want to. You shouldn't have to do anything you don't feel like doing. So I'm just curious what you do like to do.”

Sherlock feels nervous.  
He has hobbies.  
Sure he does.  
They're just....weird....”eccentric” one might say.  
They're the kind of hobbies that, once people find out you have them, they tease you about. Incessantly.  
He is briefly reminded of that time when he was eight and his pet rabbit died....and he had gotten fascinated with taxidermy.  
He wracks his brain for the most “normal” hobby he has. 

“I like to read”, he ends up saying. 

Nice and normal. A lot of people read. This is surely an acceptable answer. 

“Oh yeah?”, John seems intrigued, “what do you like to read? “

Damn.

If he tells John about the scientific papers he likes to read or the collection of Victorian medical journals in his bedroom he'll immediately think him weird.  
He's nervous now.  
He clutches his coffee cup even tighter. Too nervous to drink. Too nervous to let go.  
He avoids looking at John at all costs. 

“You like Shakespeare, right?” John prods him. 

Sherlock lets out a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding.  
_thank you, John_

“Yes”, he says, “I do like....Shakespeare.”

“What's your favourite by him?”

“Hamlet”, he answers.

“Oh, yeah?” John seems genuinely interested and it makes Sherlock feel warm all over. Once again he feels like comparing John to the sun as he basks in the warm glow of his undivided attention. 

“What's that one about?” John asks him. 

“It's about a Danish prince who gets so obsessed with avenging the murder of his father that he ends up losing everything he holds dear.” he replies. 

“Oh”, John says, “that doesn't sound too cheery.” 

“It is a tragedy.”

John quietly chuckles.  
“I'll bet”, he says, “any love interests for the Danish prince?”

“Ophelia”, Sherlock supplies. 

“Yeah? What happens to her?”

“She dies.”

John is quiet for a moment.  
“Oh”, he says again, “definitely a tragedy then.”

They both smile and Sherlock takes a sip of his coffee. He finds his hands aren't trembling quite as much anymore. 

“Why do you like it so much?” John asks. 

Sherlock puts his coffee back down on the table. 

Why does he like Hamlet so much?  
Mainly because it was his introduction to Shakespeare and also, not in a small part, because when Sherlock, still a young boy, saw Kenneth Branagh in the role in the 1996 movie he had somewhat of a sexual awakening. 

There had just been something about that slicked back bleached blond hair.....

He looks at John, the sunlight makes his hair look even lighter than it actually is. 

Sherlock coughs and looks away. Pretending there's something at the front of the coffee-place that has caught his interest. 

“I don't know”, he lies, “I just do.”

“Well”, John replies, “sometimes you just really like something.”

And when Sherlock looks back there is a smile on John's face and the sight of it immediately makes him look away again. 

“I'd love to read it sometime”, John continues talking, “maybe we'll do that one for the school play next year.”

_we_

“Do you think you'll come back to theater-class next year?” Sherlock asks him. 

“I don't know....are you going to be there?“

“I'm always there.”

“Then yes.”

Once again there's a smile on John's face that makes Sherlock feel hot all over. If he wasn't in a public place.....with John.....he'd take his shirt off.  
That's how hot he feels.  
But he can't.  
And so he just sweats nervously.  
And basks in John's company.  
This afternoon is officially the best afternoon ever. 

*********************************************************

Sherlock once again is laying awake in his bed.  
He is still no closer to the identity of “Person X” and, if he's completely honest with himself, he kind of forgot about “Person X” altogether when he was together with John this afternoon. 

That's what John does.  
He makes Sherlock forget there are other people in the world besides the two of them.  
He knows he finds himself in dangerous territory but, for the moment at least, he doesn't care. 

****************************

Sherlock is having a very hard time trying to figure out who “Person X” is.  
He's almost starting to believe they don't exist.  
But John specifically told him.......

He spends another day spying on John but once again he finds no evidence that there is anyone at this school John is even remotely interested in. 

It would all have been very frustrating if it hadn't been for the fact that he gets to look at John _all_ day long. 

Now if only he could.....

He stops that train of thought before it leaves the station.  
It's headed for treacherous terrain. 

***************************

Sherlock is just getting the last of his books out of his locker into his bag when he suddenly hears a voice behind him. 

“Hey, Sherlock!”

It's Greg.....why would Greg talk to him. Greg has never bullied him but he's also never shown any other form of interest in him either.  
Sherlock's guard is up.  
He closes his locker and turns around. Eying Greg up cautiously. 

“We missed you at Eric's party!” Greg says. 

_we?_

Greg's posture is as nonchalant and relaxed as ever and there's a big smile on his face. He's treating Sherlock just as he treats his friends and Sherlock is not quite sure how to deal with this.  
People usually don't treat him like this.  
He's having trouble acclimatising. 

“I....” he says. 

“You should definitely come next time”, Greg says. Unperturbed by the lack of a reply, “we had to spend the entire evening with a moping John in tow. Not too much fun, I can tell you.”  
“I....” Sherlock says again.  
John was moping? Because _he_ wasn't there? But why? He knows there's an obvious answer here. It seems obvious to Greg at least because he's giving him a knowing smile but he just can't quite get his finger on it himself. 

Seeing the expression of utter confusion on his face suddenly Greg's own expression changes. His eyes widen as his eyebrows go up and the knowing smile around his lips changes into a surprised and slightly amused one. 

“You really have no idea, do you?” Greg says. 

Sherlock doesn't know how to answer. He just looks back at Greg. Dumbfounded. Maybe he'll explain himself a bit more if he sees how lost Sherlock actually is. 

Greg just laughs.  
“Oh no”, he says, “I'm not going to tell you. Figure it out for yourself, pretty boy.”

And then he walks away. Still laughing.

Sherlock is as confused as ever. 

Pretty boy?

_Pretty boy?_

**************************************

Sherlock is at home. He's locked himself in the bathroom and he's looking at himself in the mirror with a critical eye. 

Pretty boy....

That's what Greg had said. 

He's never been called “pretty” before. 

Well......not by anyone that wasn't his mum anyway.......

Why would Greg say such a thing....and in relation to John..........

Has John called him pretty? While talking to Greg?

He knows the answer. He knows it's there. 

It's just.....too incredible to believe. 

John is so.......John.......and he's just......him. 

He looks at himself in the mirror again.  
The curve of his nose. His sharp cheekbones. His pale complexion (no matter how much time he spends in the sun), his weird eyes that are always a different colour and his unruly mop of black curls that never want to cooperate.  
He doesn't see how anyone could think of him as attractive. 

He bites his lower lip and then touches it with his finger.  
His lips are nice and full.....and they have a nice curve to them.....he guesses.....maybe....

He is reminded of biting his lip in theater-class when John told him Molly wasn't coming along.  
He remembers John's eyes briefly glancing down as he did so......he remembers John swallowing. 

He touches his lips again. 

Maybe his cheekbones aren't _that_ weird.....

And he supposes that, on a good day, his eyes do complement the black of his hair.  
He just needs to try and style it a bit better in the future.  
Maybe get a new haircut.....

He thinks back on all of John's actions of the last couple of months. 

If he had been literally anyone but himself he would have been sure John had been flirting with him.  
But he is himself.....he is “Weird Sherlock”......with his weird hobbies.....and no social life.....that nobody likes.....

He bites his lip again as he rakes his hand through his hair. One rebellious curl escapes from the grip of his fingers and gently drapes itself over his forehead. 

John opening the door for him....

John remembering how he drinks his coffee....

John _always_ sitting opposite to him so he could look at him without having to turn his head. 

John looking back at him constantly during chemistry class. 

John smiling that big smile every time he even so much as catches his eye. 

John had been so nervous when it had been just the two of them at the coffee-place.....taking even more sugar in his coffee than normal....getting two coffees instead of his usual one. 

Asking questions about what he liked to do......genuine interest in Sherlock. 

If he had been anyone but himself the answer would have been laughably obvious. 

Sherlock might be “Person X”.

He might be “Person X”. 

He suddenly feels as if he can't breathe.  
But John likes women.....

John has literally not looked at a woman for two months now. 

There is a feeling in his stomach that is close to all encompassing euphoria and he is afraid that if he feeds it and lets it grow he will actually start to fly and will never come back down again. 

Okay....he _might_ be able to entertain the thought that _maybe_ he is “Person X”.  
But he is no fool and he is also well aware that John actually liking him is something straight out of a fairytale and pretty much too good to be true. 

He scraps his experiment that was the search for “Person X” and proposes an new one to himself.

He will spend the rest of the weeks they have left before the performance of “A Midsummer Night's Dream” as if the hypothesis that he is John's secret crush were true. 

He will no longer hide from John but he will search him out.  
Try and spend time with John alone. Ask him about his personal life.  
Try and flirt with him.......that will probably be the hardest part.  
Sherlock has never flirted in his life.....he has no idea how people do it......  
But he's sure he'll figure something out......probably. 

He is also well aware that, in the event that he is completely wrong, he might be setting himself up for such complete heartbreak that he might never recover from it.  
But at this point he finds he no longer cares.  
He would rather spend one perfect day where he actually believes John likes him like that, only to find out later he was wrong, than spending all the days of his life living a love unrequited. 

He sighs. 

He has made up his mind.  
It was surprisingly easy.  
Laws of physics.  
There is no saying “no” to John. 

There's a knock on the bathroom door. It's Mycroft.  
“Are you going to be in there all day, Sherlock?”

“Oh, go eat an entire cake, Mycroft.”

“Is that really the best you can do today?”

Sherlock smiles to himself. He has to admit, it's not one of his best but he is feeling a bit distracted at the moment. 

“The day's not over yet”, he shouts back, “give me time.”

Mycroft laughs....actually laughs....and for a moment he reminds Sherlock of the brother he used to have as he listens to the sound of Mycroft's footsteps retreating. 

He looks at himself in the mirror again. 

“Once more unto the breach”, he says to himself. 

He's even getting his Shakespeare mixed up now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surely nothing bad will happen now, right?


	5. Chapter 5

It's early in the morning and Sherlock is looking at himself in the bathroom mirror again.  
He's gotten up extra early today so he will still get to school on time.  
His hair is slicked back.  
His riotous curls tamed for once.  
He's put a lot of product in them to achieve this result.  
A _lot_.

He tilts his head to the side slightly and turns it left and right.  
He looks.....different?  
He was hoping for “better”. More put together.  
Handsome?....maybe.....

He certainly doesn't see a “pretty boy” but then again.....he's never seen that when looking at himself in a mirror.  
His eyes seem too small like this and his cheekbones far too pronounced without his curls to hide them from sight.  
He represses the urge to pull his hands through his hair and mess it all up again....but just barely. 

He turns his head from side to side once more.  
He'll have to live with it for today.  
At this point he needs to hurry or he will be too late for school after all.  
At least today is not a theater-class day.....there is that.......

**************

It's lunchtime at school and, no matter how insecure and nervous he might feel, Sherlock has vowed to stick to his new experiment.  
He resists the urge to just not eat and hide in the chemistry lab and makes his way to the school cafeteria. 

There are a lot of students here.  
His palms feel moist and he feels entirely too exposed. 

Easily enough he finds John and his friends.  
They always sit at the same table for lunch.  
There had been a time where Sherlock might have secretly hoped to have something like that.  
A regular table.  
A regular group of friends.  
He's not sure what he wants now. 

He looks at the multitude of tables and chairs scattered across the area.  
He can't just go and sit at John's table. That would be weird. But he has to stick to the plan and try and remain as close to John as he dares at every opportunity he gets. 

He spots a table close to the one that John is sitting at that has a couple of empty chairs at the end of it.  
It'll have to do.  
He gingerly makes his way to one of the empty chairs furthest away from the students who are already sitting there, slides it back from the table and sits down himself.  
Some of the current occupants of the table look up briefly but none of them seem to be bothered by his presence or pay him any mind at all.  
Sherlock takes a deep breath.  
He didn't really think his plan through past this point.  
What is he supposed to do now?  
He didn't bring any lunch. He hardly ever eats at school. But he really feels like he needs something to do. If he just sits here, on his own, he'll look weird.......and lonely.....and sad.....pathetic.  
He should have thought this through more. 

He digs in his backpack to find something that will make him seem less....weird.  
He finds an old Snickers bar and decides to eat that although he's far from hungry. His stomach feels as if it's being squeezed tight and the candy seems to have lost all of its flavour when he bites into it. It sticks to the roof of his mouth and his throat and he has to swallow a couple of times to make it actually go down. 

After he has finished it he is unsure how to proceed. Lunch-break is 30 minutes long. There must be at least.....he glances at his phone......oh god......23 minutes left. 

He feels like leaving. He should leave. This was a mistake. He can't even pull his hands through his curls because he's slicked them back and if he pulls his hand through his hair now it'll come back all greasy and sticky. 

He sighs, bites his lip and hazards a look at John's table. 

John is looking at him. He feels himself going red. What must John think of him. He's pretty sure he looks utterly pathetic. If John tries to wave him over now, at this point, he'll probably just run.  
Screw “The Plan”. How can he sit with John's rugby friends when he feels like this. 

Maybe it's something John sees on his face or maybe John just understands what he's going through but John does not wave him over.  
He does the exact opposite.  
John gets up from his chair, picks up the can of coke he was currently still drinking (no juice-box this time, Sherlock notices) and makes his way to Sherlock's table.  
Slowly, without losing eye-contact.  
Perhaps he's afraid Sherlock will bolt if he loses sight of him even for a second. And, in all fairness, he still feels he might.  
But before he makes a decision John reaches his table, puts on the biggest smile Sherlock has ever seen on him and asks:  
“can I sit here?”

Sherlock just nods. Saying “no” to John is still not an option.  
John sits down on the empty chair next to Sherlock and turns his body towards him as he takes a sip from his drink. 

“Hey, you”, he says. Smile still on his face. 

“Hey”, Sherlock replies. He tries to smile too but he finds he's too stunned to form any sort of facial expression at the moment. 

John's expression turns serious then as he gives him a scrutinizing look. Sherlock feels exposed, laid bare under it and he contemplates just making a run for it again. He's been this close to John before but that was at the coffee-place.....under the guise of practicing the play. This is a social setting, at school, where everyone can see them, and judge them, and wonder why on earth John is hanging out with Sherlock of all people.  
He should definitely just run. 

“You've changed your hair”, John says. 

Sherlock feels himself panic even more. Of course John has noticed. John probably hates it. Of course he hates it. Silently he curses his stupid cheekbones and too small eyes as he looks down at the table where his empty Snickers wrapper still lies and tells himself that, next time he has an “idea”, he probably shouldn't listen to himself. 

“You don't like it?” he says. He doesn't mean to sound so dejected but somehow he does. 

“No! No! I like it!”, John says. Perfect John who will never see all the faults in him no matter how hard he tries apparently, “Of course I like it.....it's just.....different.....less “you”. Well.....it is “you”. Obviously it's you. Just...”you” but......tamed.”

John smiles at him again. As if that explains anything.  
Sherlock doesn't understand and at the same time he feels he does.  
He manages to give John a small smile in return.  
John's own smile widens and he's about to say something else when they get interrupted:

“Hello! Looo......”  
Greg seems to have found his way to their table too but before he is able to finish whatever greeting he was about to give John shoots him a look and he shuts his mouth for a second before he decides to go for:  
“Lllllads, hello lads!”, Greg pulls out the chair opposite Sherlock and sits down. John gives him another look. Greg pretends not to notice.  
“What are we talking about?”, Greg says. 

“None of your business, that's what”, John replies. But before either of them is able to say anything else more of John's friends start to move to their table. There aren't enough empty chairs so they decide to slide chairs over from their regular table to make it work.

“Are we switching tables?”, a boy Sherlock now recognizes as Eric asks.

“We're sitting with John's new friend now”, Greg replies. John shoots Greg yet another look but again Greg completely ignores him.  
John turns to Sherlock then.  
“I'm really sorry about this”, he says, “we can sit somewhere else if you want but I'm afraid they'll just follow us again if we do.”

Sherlock looks around the table at the rowdy boys who have now joined them. None of them look like they are going to hurt him. And he's got John right next to him. John wouldn't let that happen.....right?  
“It's fine”, he says and John physically relaxes beside him.  
And it is fine.  
It turns out to be very fine.  
John's friends turn out to be a lot of fun. They ask him questions about drama-club, what part he plays, if he's got a lot of lines and if John is actually good at acting.  
They don't even laugh at him when he tells them he plays a fairy. 

None of them call him names or throw his bag on the ground or punch him......that happened once.....about two years ago now. It's the reason why he's used to taking his lunch-breaks alone.  
The remaining 23 minutes aren't nearly as long as he initially feared they would be and when the bell rings to signal that classes are starting again he's actually a bit sad that it's over.  
He gets up and hoists his bag onto his shoulder but before he can make his way out of the cafeteria and back to French class John softly grabs his elbow and stops him in his tracks. 

John looks apologetic.....is he sorry they shared lunch together?  
Is his new theory going to be disproved this early in the process?  
He had hoped for a little while longer where he was allowed to be close to John and pretend they were friends and......maybe more. 

“I'm sorry”, John says. 

There it is, he thinks. He braces himself for rejection. 

“My friends can be a bit loud and obnoxious sometimes”, John continues, “if you want to sit somewhere else next time we can.”

Sherlock blinks his eyes a couple of times. 

_We_

John still wants to sit with him......next time.....  
John would prefer sitting with Sherlock above sitting with his friends even. 

That's definitely one point in the column supporting his theory that he is “Person X”.

“No....it.....it's fine”, he says, “I like your friends.”

John's face lights up again and Sherlock can't help but stare at the dimple that forms in his left cheek. Right next to his mouth...and his lips.  
John licks his lips and Sherlock bites his own involuntarily. It's a nervous habit of his. He can't help it. 

“I.....I'm ….pretty sure they like you too”, John says. 

Why is John stammering? There is so much about John he still doesn't understand and he wishes he does.

John's hand is still a warm and comforting pressure on his arm. At least he understands that. He understands what it does to him. How one touch from John can set him aflame and make him go weak at the knees.  
Just imagine what kissing John would be like.  
Or rather...don't imagine that....he probably shouldn't with John right there.  
He feels his cheeks heating up again and grips his schoolbag a little bit tighter to try and ground himself. 

All too soon the pressure of John's fingers on his arm lessens and then he completely lets go. 

“See you tomorrow?” John asks. 

Sherlock just nods. There is definitely no saying “no” to John Watson. 

**************************  
Today is another theater-class day. Sherlock has been both looking forward to it and dreading it.  
He's been keeping himself awake all night wondering what he's going to say to John. How he'll try and flirt with John.....he still has no idea how flirting works. He's never had to do it before.  
He had sort of figured that flirting with John would be easy....that he'd know what to do when an appropriate situation presented itself.  
Turns out....it's anything but easy.  
All night mental images of John and Mary plagued his troubled mind. What they had looked like together..... so natural and completely at ease in each others company. 

A very stark contrast to what Sherlock had looked like when John had joined him for lunch the other day.  
He had frozen up....been lost for words.....biting his lip because he hadn't known what else to do and he's pretty sure that if John's friends hadn't come over and saved the day things would only have gotten more awkward. 

When Sherlock is around John he's a nervous wreck.  
Around John he forgets what he wants to say.....on occasions he forgets how language works entirely.  
He even forgets how to breathe sometimes.  
He cannot imagine John finding him anything but strange, awkward and weird.  
When he's alone like this in his bed, in the dark at night he finds it almost impossible to believe that John might even be remotely interested in him in a romantic way. 

Who even would be? 

Nobody has ever been before. 

He knows that someone has to be the first but for that someone to be John.....  
That's sort of like your first ever attempt at drawing turning out to be the Mona Lisa.  
Things like that don't happen.  
And yet....he has led himself to believe it has. 

But John hardly knows anything about him.  
If he does like him now surely that will change once he gets to know him. Really know him.  
So, in a way, by making himself spend time with John to test if his theory that John likes him is right, he is setting himself up for inevitable failure.  
Because John will get to know him.  
And by knowing him he will learn not to love him. 

He's been tossing and turning right up until his alarm goes off and when he looks at himself in the mirror in the morning his hair is a downright mess.  
He slides his hands through his curls a couple of times in an attempt to at least make _something_ of it. Gives up. And just leaves for school. 

As he passes through the kitchen Mycroft is also there. Oh well, some tragedies can't be helped. Maybe if he ignores his brother he can get his bag packed and get out the door without having to say a single word to him. 

“No hair-gel today, Sherlock?”

So much for that plan. 

“No cupcake for breakfast, Mycroft?”

“I already finished it.”

He throws his brother a snarky smile and Mycroft returns it with one of his own. 

It seems as if that's all Mycroft is going to say to him that morning and in his mind he's already thinking about the school day ahead.....about John......and whether this time he'll manage to not embarrass himself completely in front of him. He did pack a lunch today. Just in case. He'll probably still won't eat it.  
So when Mycroft does talk to him again it catches him off guard just a bit. 

“You know, Sherlock”, Mycroft says, “I'm not sure what's going on with you lately but...”

“Nothing's going on with me.” Sherlock throws Mycroft an angry look. Best to nip his brother's meddling ways in the bud before they begin. 

“But”, Mycroft continues. It seems even Sherlock's signature scowl can't stop him. Typical. They're both Holmes' after all. “you know you can always talk to me, right?”

There is genuine concern in his brother's voice. Sherlock was not expecting that and he doesn't know how to respond to it. He's used to throwing insults at his brother and getting insults back in return. They don't do “caring”.....that's not them....might have been them once......years ago....but not now.  
Not anymore.  
They have an armour around them built up out of years of sarcasm and spite. If it were to crack now who knows what kind of emotions would come flooding back out. 

“I'm fine.” he says. Mycroft is probably not buying it. 

“Are you sure?” Definitely not buying it. 

“Of course I'm sure. I'm always sure.”

“All right then.”  
Whether he believes him or not, Mycroft seems to let the matter go.....for now. 

Sherlock will worry about that some other time.  
He needs to get to school. He has enough problems as it is.  
He zips up his bag and hoists it on his shoulders. He makes a point of not looking at Mycroft as he does so. 

“Have a good day at school today, Sherlock.” Mycroft tries. 

Sherlock makes sure the door bangs extra hard when he closes it. 

***********************************

At theater-class Sherlock ends up teaming up with John when Mrs. Scott gives them another improv-exercise to warm up.  
As it turns out John is actually pretty good at improvisation and by the time the exercise ends and they start rehearsing scenes from the play Sherlock feels that some of the tension caused by his sleepless night has slipped away. 

By the time the rehearsals end Sherlock feels tense again. He's unsure what's going to happen next. He doesn't like not knowing.

“So....”, John says. John hasn't left his side at all during class. This part of his plan he definitely does like. Whatever the future will bring. “Are you ready to go?” 

Sherlock hesitates for a moment. Should he ask.......he has to ask.......he can't not ask....right?  
“What about Molly?” he asks. 

John gives him a small smile as he rubs the back of his neck. His shirt rides up a little as he does so exposing a small bit of his abdomen and Sherlock does his very best not to stare at it...and fails miserably. 

“Yeah....Molly's not coming”, John says, “it's her aunt...”

“What about my aunt?”  
Apparently Molly has overheard the last part of their conversation as she was making her way towards the door to leave. 

John looks uncomfortable and that part of Sherlock's mind that he's having trouble quietening, wonders whether, maybe, it's because of him. 

“Your aunt who is sick”, John explains to Molly. 

For a moment she looks confused.  
“I don't have.....”, she starts but then John gives her a look. He's been giving a lot of people looks lately. And suddenly she seems to remember again.  
“Oh, _that_ aunt”, she says, “the one I'm going to take care of and that's why I can't come with you guys.......yeah.....such a bummer.”

Sherlock is pretty sure there is no sick aunt but he's not going to comment on it. If it gets him time alone with John he'll gladly pretend to be an idiot. 

They say their goodbye's to Molly and make their way to the coffee-place together once more. 

********************************

“I like your hair better this way.”

“Huh?” Sherlock had been lost in thought. Well....lost in John is more like it. They're sitting at their usual table again and once again the late-afternoon light filtering through the windows frames John just so. Sherlock was just thinking about how it looks like he has a golden halo around him. How utterly mesmerizing he looks. He wonders how he ever even managed to stay away from John Watson. His “Rugby John”. For the duration of his current experiment he is allowing himself to call John “his”.....but only in his mind. There's only so much his nerves can take.  
But for now...in his mind....he calls John his own. As often as he can. For as long as he still can.  
And so he finds that, these days, his mind is lost in daydreams most of the time and so he needs a moment to bring himself back to the present when John talks to him. Especially when he says something Sherlock was not expecting him to say. 

“Your hair”, John explains, “I liked your other look too....but.....this is just more....”you”. 

John shrugs as if that explains it even more and then he actually stretches out his hand towards Sherlock's face, twists a stray curl around his finger and tucks it back behind his ear before he casually brings his hand back to the cup of coffee he's currently drinking. 

Sherlock is positive that in that moment his heart has stopped beating. It must have. He has surely died and gone to heaven.  
He silently wishes he could slick his hair back again so that John can run both his hands through it and un-tame it one strand at a time and restore everything to it's natural order once more. 

He feels frozen in place. He is unable to move....or speak. As is so often the case when he his with John.  
Instead he bites his lip and as John's eyes follow the movement John licks his own lips. 

For a moment neither of them speaks.  
Eventually it is John who continues their conversation:  
“Oh!”, he says, “I got you something!” and he starts digging in his bag. 

It takes him a good 21 seconds, Sherlock knows, he counted, anything to calm his nerves, but eventually his hand emerges from his bag holding a small plastic bag with a flat rectangular object inside. 

“Sorry”, he says, “I didn't have time to wrap it.”

Sherlock wants to say he shouldn't have gotten him anything. And for the life of him he can't imagine _why_ John is giving him something. But, as it is so often the case lately when he finds himself in close proximity to John, he seems to be tongue-tied and unable to form any coherent thoughts. 

John is holding the bag out towards him with an expectant smile on his face and Sherlock has no choice but to take it from him. His hand slightly trembles when he does. 

Within the bag he finds a dvd.  
Hamlet.  
The 1996 version.  
With Kenneth Branagh. 

“The lady at the shop said it was the best adaptation.” John explains. The smile on his face now has a slightly nervous edge to it. 

Sherlock isn't sure if this is the absolute best adaptation. The shop-lady might have just told John that to get him to buy the dvd. But it is a pretty good version. And certainly a complete version.....

“It's four hours long”, he says. 

“I thought maybe we could watch it together after we've had our final performance...”  
John's smile still has a nervous edge to it.  
He's also clever enough not to specify who “we” exactly are in this scenario.  
The entire theater-class?  
John, Molly and him?  
Just John and him?

And once again, since he has put this new experiment in motion, Sherlock wishes he knew how to flirt. He's so bad at this. Even if John did like him before, his utter lack of knowing how to handle relationships and the process of....what would you even call it.......courtship?.....will most likely soon turn him off of Sherlock. 

“Shouldn't we be watching “A Midsummer Night's Dream” instead?” he asks. Which is probably the least flirtatious thing he could have asked but he's starting to panic now. 

John just laughs and the warm sound of it calms him down just a small bit. 

“We already know how that one goes”, John says. 

Sherlock laughs too now. The tension leaving his body in small increments. 

“Well...thank you....for this”, he says. He feels so clumsy. This experiment was the worst idea ever. He doesn't know how to flirt with John. He doesn't know how to flirt with anyone. This will end in disaster.....this will all fall apart soon....he will......John will.......John.....

“Do you want something to eat? I'm kind of hungry.”  
Once again John's voice shakes him from his daydream. 

John is still smiling at him. He's just thankful that, apparently John has noticed nothing of his internal crisis. 

“I....” he says and then stops talking again. 

John's smile just widens as he gets up.  
“I'm going to get us both a cupcake and then you can just decide of you want one or not.”

Sherlock nods and John makes his way to the bar where the baked goods are sold. Sherlock looks down at the dvd in his hands. On the cover Hamlet can be seen standing, watching the marriage of his uncle and mother. He's got his back to the camera. He's dressed in all black and his short blond hair is in stark contrast with his dark clothes.  
He bites his lower lip and quickly tucks the dvd away safely in his backpack. 

**********************************  
That evening Sherlock is quiet during dinner. Once again he's moving his food from one side of his plate to the other without actually eating it.  
Every once in a while Mycroft gives him a stern look from his side of the table but he pretends not to notice. 

He's still trying to process the events of today.  
John tucking his hair behind his ear....touching him......John giving him a dvd......buying him a cupcake.....smiling at him......so.....at ease.

John knows exactly how to behave himself. How to talk to other people and Sherlock.....he just flounders along and on occasion he says something that's not entirely inappropriate....or so he hopes. 

He sighs. 

Mycroft gives him another look. 

He needs help. He needs advise. Anything.  
He might be desperate. 

“Mycroft.....why don't you have a girlfriend?”  
He truly must be desperate. 

“For gods sake, Sherlock, must we do this now? I'm trying to eat.” Mycroft's reply. 

Immediately Sherlock's defenses go up again. Never mind then.  
“Well, if that's the criteria we're using whether we start a conversation or not”, he spits out, “I'm amazed I ever get to talk to you at all.”

He slides his food to the other side of his plate once more for good measure and when he sneaks a peek at his brother from underneath his fringe he finds that Mycroft is giving him a questioning look. 

Sherlock takes a deep breath.  
Well....here goes nothing. 

“I'm sorry, Mycroft”, he says, “I just.....I just don't know what to do.”

“Well, there's a first.”

“Shut up, Mycroft.”

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

Both of them don't say anything as Sherlock stares at his untouched food and Mycroft looks at his younger brother. 

Eventually Mycroft just sighs and puts his fork down.  
“Alright”, he says, “what's troubling you, Lock?”

Mycroft hasn't called him that in a very long time. It's what he used to call him when he was hurt. Scraped his knee. Fallen from a tree. Heard his parents fight.....  
_It's going to be alright, Lock_ , his brother would say, _we're going to be fine. I've got you_

“I don't know how to flirt”, he ends up saying. 

“Is there someone you want to flirt with?”

“Is there a pie-eating contest you're currently training for?”

Mycroft sighs again.  
“Do you want my help or not?”

Sherlock remains quiet and Mycroft lets him be quiet. Lets him come to his own conclusions when he is good and ready.  
Sherlock keeps sliding his food around his plate. The rhythmic back and forth movement helps him think. 

“I just don't know what I'm doing”, he says eventually. 

There's a soft smile on his brother's lips but there is no joy in it. It's the saddest smile Sherlock has ever seen and seeing it makes him shove his plate away from him as far as he possibly can. Even the sight of food is making him nauseous now. 

“Just be yourself”, Mycroft says, “That should be enough.”

“And what if it isn't?”

“Then they're not the right person for you. You shouldn't have to pretend to be someone you're not. In the end, the truth always comes out.”

Sherlock gives his brother a weak smile.  
He doesn't say “thank you”. He can't.  
But he's pretty sure Mycroft knows what he means to say. 

**********************************

Once again Sherlock lies awake at night. This time he's thinking over what Mycroft had said. 

_Just be yourself_

_The truth always comes out_

And he had been right.  
Sooner or later John will find out what he is actually like and he will stop liking Sherlock.  
They're just so different.  
John is social and well liked.  
Sherlock is socially awkward and has no friends.  
John plays rugby, is muscular and handsome.  
Sherlock is skinny, has a pale complexion and a weird face. 

Best to let John know some of his worst character traits and if he then still decides to hang out with Sherlock.....well....that'll just be _his_ one and only character flaw then. 

In his mind Sherlock adds an addendum to his plan. 

******************************

They're at the coffee-place again.  
Just John and Sherlock.  
Molly has bailed on them again on the premise of the “sick aunt”.  
He can't believe they still think he's buying into that. 

They're practicing the final act of the play but Sherlock is having a hard time concentrating.  
He knows these lines by heart.  
Has known them for years. In fact: he knows almost all of Shakespeare's plays by heart.  
Memorizing them gave him something to do while other kids his age played outside or went on dates.  
But despite his years of practice he finds that today he cannot seem to recall lines that once came easy to him and when he looks down at the text in his book none of the letters seem to be able to stay still. 

John seems to have noticed his strange mood too.

“Is everything alright?” he asks. A look of concern on his face. John is once again folding and unfolding the page in his textbook they are currently reading. It's something he does when he's nervous Sherlock has discovered. He wishes he'd stop doing that. At the moment it's only adding to Sherlock's own nerves. 

“I play the violin”, he ends up blurting out.  
Not exactly the way he had wanted to go about initiating the addendum to his plan but....potential boyfriends should know the worst about each other.... he hopes John will understand but the confused look on his classmates face tells him he probably doesn't understand at all. 

“O-kay, that's.....cool”, John says. A slight hesitation in his voice. Clearly Sherlock has caught him off guard. 

Nothing for it now. Sherlock decides to just plough on ahead. The sooner he gets this over with the sooner he can either try and start forgetting about how he ever thought John would like him or , the far more unlikely outcome of this scenario, he can be just a bit more sure that John has a crush on him. 

“I talk to myself when there's no one around”, he continues. 

There's a smile starting to form on John's face now. Maybe he is catching on after all. 

“Everybody does that”, John says. 

“But sometimes I don't talk for days on end”, he continues.

John just shrugs as his smile widens.  
“Sometimes quiet is good”, he says. 

“I like reading scientific papers in my spare time and I collect Victorian medical books”, Sherlock replies. 

John's smile grows even wider and there's a twinkle in his eye now as he licks his lips. Sherlock can't keep his eyes of John's tongue and lips. In his head he tries to list all the Latin names of the muscles responsible for making such a gesture possible. 

“I already knew you were smart and that's amazing”, John just replies.

Sherlock decides it's time to get out the big guns. 

“I stuffed and mounted my pet rabbit when I was 8”, he says. Surely this will throw John off....weird him out.....but....no...John just keeps on smiling at him as he places his elbows on the table and leans forward. 

“I'd love to see it someday.”

Sherlock swallows and John's eyes drift down. Following the movement of his adam's apple. 

“I own an actual human skull”, Sherlock concludes. 

John slightly tilts his head to the side as he raises an eyebrow and leans in closer still.  
“I'd also like to see that”, he says. His voice is low and husky and Sherlock has forgotten the other items he had on his list.  
The list of things that are weird and odd and stupid about him. The list he made up in the middle of the night when, once again, plagued by self-doubt, he couldn't sleep.  
None of it seems to matter now.  
His world has been reduced to nothing but this moment....John....leaning over the table.....holding his gaze.....smiling an amused smile.....as if everything he has just been saying is all amusing and fascinating.  
John has this way of turning everything he used to think was right on its head. It's making him dizzy. 

John leans in closer still. Their faces are only inches apart at this point. The blue of John's irises is an ocean Sherlock finds himself drowning in. He can feel John's breath on his face and once again he cannot help but bite his lip. This time it's John who swallows and then John slowly stretches out his hand just as he had done the last time they had been here. Once again he takes one of Sherlock's curls and wraps it around his finger. This time however he doesn't tuck it back behind his ear but he tugs on it gently.  
Sherlock finds himself moving forward.  
Wherever John leads him he will follow.  
They are so close together now that their noses brush against each other. 

Sherlock closes his eyes. 

“I like your hair like this”, John says. His voice nothing more than a soft whisper in the breath between them. 

Outside a car alarm suddenly goes of startling Sherlock and as his eyes shoot open he pulls his head back. John lets the lock of hair he was holding slide through his fingers and sits back.  
Sherlock feels dazed. As if he has been dreaming and has just woken up.  
He's not sure what has just happened, what was going to happen, but he's pretty sure he liked it. Was maybe going to like it even more had his nervous nature not gotten the better of him. 

John is looking at him with an amused smile on his face and.....something else.....something soft......he'll call it “endearment” until he finds a better word for it. 

“I....” Sherlock starts but he's not really sure where he's going with that sentence.

John just smiles at him.....John looks so happy......why......

“Are you hungry?” John asks. Just as he had done last time. “I could get us cupcakes again.”

Sherlock just nods. 

John gets up. Sherlock watches him go. Still in a daze. He is not sure what just happened. Mainly because he's never had anything like that happen before. 

John gets them both a banana-walnut cupcake. 

Sherlock eats all of it. 

He realizes he was quite hungry after all. 

***************************************

Once again Sherlock can't sleep but this time for an entirely different reason. 

Against all the overwhelming odds he's about 99% sure John likes him....romantically. Something in his stomach flutters at the mere thought. 

He's also about 79.3% sure John was about to kiss him today. He's had to use some more complicated formulas on that hypothesis.  
But still.....the results are overwhelmingly positive. 

He can't sleep and he wishes he could relive the day again.  
Feel John's hand in his hair. His lips oh so close to his.....  
He really hopes John will try and kiss him again.  
He's never kissed someone before.  
What if he's not good at it....what if John finds he doesn't like kissing him....  
He quickly puts a halt to those negative thoughts.  
Today has been perfect. He does not want to ruin any of it by being himself. 

He looks at his alarm-clock.  
23:57  
Almost midnight.  
He should try and sleep.  
But he can't.  
When he closes his eyes all he can think about is John.  
He tosses and turns in his bed. 

John. 

Perfect, Rugby John, likes him. 

It takes all of his willpower not to scream, he's so happy. 

His chest feels too big for his body and he finds he cannot stop himself from smiling. 

He turns himself over on his stomach but he finds he can't sleep like that either. 

It's no use. 

He ends up picking up his phone from where he has dropped it on the floor beside his bed. 

He scrolls through the list of contacts until he finds the one he's looking for: 

John Watson. 

He doesn't know what to send John.  
John might already be asleep for all he knows. He probably is asleep.  
But he needs to text John. Send him something. Just to verify for himself that, yes, it all was indeed real. John is real. He wasn't dreaming.  
And so he starts typing. 

**Good night, John**  
He sends. 

The answering text comes almost instantaneously: 

_Good night, Sherlock. Sweet dreams_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had SO much trouble with this chapter. It has gone through three revisions. I've deleted parts, added parts, and it still ended up being over 6000 words.  
> Am I happy with it?  
> I don't know. I'll sleep on it.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock now spends most of his lunch-breaks sitting with John and his rugby-friends.  
To his surprise he finds he quite likes their company.  
The loud, muscular and very “alpha” boys aren't nearly as small-minded and intimidating as he initially had assumed.  
Although the general interest they had shown in him the first time he joined them quiets down a bit over time, no doubt they have realized that Sherlock does not do well in groups and tends to shut down when too much of the attention is focused on him, they still involve him in their conversations every so often.  
Instead of being laughed at he now gets to laugh with them and whenever he bumps into one of them in the hallways on his way to class there's always a friendly “Hello, Sherlock!”.

So usually, when lunch-break rolls around Sherlock makes his way to their table and sits down in the empty seat next to John that is, somehow, always left empty for him.

Usually. But not today. 

Today Sherlock hesitates as he stands, frozen in place, halfway down the cafeteria. 

Because John is not there. 

There are two empty seats at the rugby-table this time.  
The one he usually sits on......and the one John sits on. 

He's unsure what to do. 

Should he still walk up to their table and sit down as he usually does?  
Have they only been accepting him in their midst because John likes him so much and they like John?  
Will things be awkward and weird if he does join them?  
Will they all look at him as they go silent and wonder what the hell he thinks he's doing? 

He has to make up his mind now. _Before_ he walks any further into the cafeteria-area and they spot him. 

And once he makes a decision he's going to have to stick to it.  
He can't just go and sit down and if it turns out they don't want him there get up and walk away again.  
That would be even more awkward.  
John or no John he'd never be able to join them again after that.

But if he turns around right now and walks away......and John is just merely late.....he'll miss out on almost half an hour of spending time with John.....

He grips the shoulder-strap of his bag tightly as he stares down at his shoes.  
He takes a deep breath in an attempt to try and calm himself.....try and come to some sort of decision. 

One of the boys at the table has apparently said something funny because the group of rugby-boys suddenly erupts with uproarious laughter as some of them even bang their fists on the table. 

His hands have gone all clammy again. 

He can't do this. 

Without John there to ground him he'll just stick out.  
Everyone in the entire school will look at him and wonder what on earth he's doing, sitting with the most popular boys. 

Yeah.....he's definitely not doing this. 

He's leaving. 

The chemistry lab is probably left unlocked again. 

He'll just go there and....

“Hey, Sherlock!”

Greg has spotted him. 

_damn it_

He should have left while he still had the chance. 

He looks up in the direction of Greg's enthusiastic shout. His hand is so clammy now that it actually slips down a couple of inches where he's gripping onto his bag. 

Greg is smiling.  
It does nothing to calm his nerves. 

“Come sit with us! We saved your seat!”

Well....he can't walk away _now_.  
That would make him look even weirder.

He takes a deep and calming breath again.  
It doesn't work in the slightest.  
And gingerly makes his way towards the rugby-table.  
He just hopes John will turn up soon. 

*********************************

“John?....Nah, he probably won't be back before the end of lunch-break.” Greg says after he quietly inquires why John isn't here. 

“I'd be surprised if coach even lets him go before the school day is over!” Eric adds. 

The other boys laugh. Sherlock only manages to slightly lift the corners of his mouth.  
If that was a joke he's not sure if he gets it.  
He doesn't get these boys.  
He never has.  
He shifts in his seat nervously. His bag is on the floor in between his legs and he twists one of the straps around his right foot just to give himself something to do. 

Greg, seated next to him seems to have picked up on his unease.....and how could he not.  
Sherlock feels as if the nervous energy he's radiating is so strong you could probably go to the moon and still be blinded by it. 

“I'm sure he'll come find you as soon as he can”, Greg says. His voice low and reassuring so only a small part of the table is able to overhear their conversation.  
Sherlock gives him another weak smile. 

“It's just with him being captain and all”, Greg continues, “and the big game coming up....”

Sherlock doesn't have the faintest idea what kind of “big game” Greg is talking about and that is probably also written all over his face because Greg smiles, shakes his head and goes on to explain the situation a bit further: 

“Honestly...you theater kids”, he says but there's no malice in his tone of voice, “tomorrow's the biggest game of the season. If we win that one we're going on to compete in the National championship next season. With John being the rugby captain, the coach just wants to run by him what the best strategy for tomorrow will be.....John's good at strategizing.....surely he's told you about this?”

John has told him none of this.  
They never talk about rugby......they should have......Sherlock feels just a small bit guilty.  
He should have asked John about rugby.  
Rugby is important to John and he's never even asked him about it.  
They've talked about Sherlock's stupid hobbies but never....  
He feels selfish and not for the first time he wonders what John even sees in him.....if anything at all. 

He shakes his head. 

Greg frowns. 

“He hasn't invited you to come and watch the game tomorrow afternoon? Just about the entire school is going to come and cheer us on! There'll be a big party on the rugby-field afterwards.”

He hasn't. At all. Hasn't even mentioned it once. 

Sherlock shakes his head again. 

Greg is silent. 

“I'm sure he was planning to...” Greg finally says. He is quiet for a couple of seconds more and then: “well....I'm inviting you on John's behalf!”

Sherlock doesn't know what to say.  
He remembers the sight of John in his rugby shorts.  
He remembers how absolutely mouth-wateringly good John looks in them.  
He would very much like to see it again.  
But not if John doesn't want him there.  
There must be a reason why John hasn't breathed a word to him about this important game.....that apparently the entire school is attending......the game that is a pretty big deal.....important to John....

Maybe there are parts of John's life he doesn't want to share with Sherlock.  
He doesn't blame him.  
Whenever Sherlock used to go to rugby games to secretly watch John he never fit in with the other supporters. He didn't know how to cheer or behave himself....he hardly even knows what the rules to rugby actually are.  
He just knew that John, in his element, smiling as he was running along the field, his muscles tensed and his chest heaving as his body was pushed to its limits, his hair in glorious disarray, was a sight to behold.  
He would exude a sense of power and dominance out of every single one of his pores reminding Sherlock of golden Achilles as he was portrayed in the Greek legends.  
As the other people in the stands around him would yell and sing, stomp their feet and clap their hands, Sherlock would just sit there.....and marvel at the radiant power of John Watson.  
“Rugby” John Watson.  
_His_ Rugby John. 

So, naturally, after “The Incident” he had stopped going to rugby games.  
How could he go back to something as marvelous as John completely in his element after having shamed himself so thoroughly. 

He couldn't 

He bites his lip. 

“I'm sure he wants you there, Sherlock”, Greg says to him. His voice soft and with just a hint of pity. 

Sherlock isn't so sure. 

Without John beside him as a physical reminder that this is all real his confidence in what they have....if they have anything at all, wavers.  
He wants to somehow explain this to Greg but how can he explain that that 1% of doubt he has about John's feelings for him rises like the tide under the moon in the absence of the sun whenever his golden John is not around. 

He gives Greg another weak smile.  
Greg doesn't seem to be convinced. He doesn't blame him. At this point he's having a hard time convincing himself. 

“We'd love to have Sherlock at the game tomorrow, right guys?” Greg is addressing the group now. 

_Oh please no_

The table erupts once again with a lot of shouting and “yeah!”'s.  
Someone even claps him on the back. It stings slightly and Sherlock feels his throat constricting. 

He wants to go and see John play tomorrow......but he also really, really doesn't want to go. 

If only John would return. His stomach is in knots and he is experiencing a very real sensation that feels a lot like drowning in water. 

John does not return for the rest of their lunch-break. 

He spends his time sitting at the rugby-table. Being quiet.  
He can't think of a single thing to say to these boys.  
His mind is on John.......and the rugby game......and on going.....and not going.  
He has a growing suspicion he'll most likely feel miserable whichever way he chooses. 

Finally.... _finally_ lunch-break ends.  
He has never felt so relieved in his entire life. 

Greg turns to him one final time.  
“You'll be there tomorrow, right Sherlock?”

For a moment he has no idea what Greg is talking about.....but then.....the game....the rugby game.....of course. 

He bites his lip. 

And then Eric joins in the conversation: “We need you there, Sherlock! You're our un-official good luck charm!”

Greg shoots Eric a look.  
Eric just laughs. “Well, he is!” he says. 

“We like having you around”, Greg continues, “all of us.”

The smile Greg gives him then is so sincere that all Sherlock can do is nod. 

Alright. 

That settles it. 

“Great!” Greg says, “see you tomorrow then!”

The rugby-boys leave. Sherlock sits at the table for a little bit longer. The cafeteria empties out around him. His hands feel clammy again. 

********************************************  
Sherlock is standing leaned against the waist-high fencing that surrounds the rugby field.  
He's thought about where to stand long and hard.  
He first considered going up into the bleachers.  
Seated up there the players on the field would have a hard time spotting him and he could make his retreat before they see him if he ended up feeling uncomfortable.  
But the seats on the bleachers are narrow. And if the game is going to be as busy as Greg predicted the bleachers are going to be packed. If he wants to covertly leave he'll have to precariously pass by rows and rows of people.....who will have to get up to let him pass....a move like that will be noticeable.  
So he figured a position where he is already standing would be preferable.  
It will be easier to notice him from the field this way though. That part can't be helped.  
So, if that's the case, he figures he'll just choose a spot where John will most likely notice him right away. This way he'll be able to tell pretty quickly if John actually wants him there or not.....and if he doesn't.....he won't have to stay for the entire game if John doesn't want him there. He'll just go home before he embarrasses himself even further. 

As time goes on more and more people start to pour onto the bleachers and the available space around the field.  
Greg definitely wasn't kidding when he said the entire school was going to be here.....it seems to Sherlock as if the entire town has come to watch the team play.  
There are people to the left and right of him now. The empty space around him is quickly filling up and every now and then someone's shoulder brushes against his.  
He feels boxed in. He's never been claustrophobic but at this moment he feels he might be.  
He's having trouble breathing.  
There are too many people here.  
And there's a very real possibility that absolutely none of them actually want him here. 

He just wants the game to start. 

Get it over with. 

He looks at the big digital clock that looms over the field. Just a couple minutes more. 

***************************

Finally, _finally_ the players come running out unto the field.  
Sherlock spots John immediately.  
He looks just as good as Sherlock remembers.  
Maybe even better.  
It's late in the afternoon and the orange light of the setting sun once again frames his sturdy frame beautifully.  
Sherlock is reminded of a Waterhouse painting.  
Waterhouse also painted Ophelia once......his thoughts drift back to Hamlet and the dvd John gave him. John had looked beautiful then too. 

There are a lot of people surrounding the field. With a little bit of luck John will never notice him. He relaxes just a small bit but then Greg looks in his direction, smiles, taps John on the shoulder and actually points at him. 

And then _John_ is looking at him. 

He wishes he could melt into the crowd and disappear but John is already jogging towards him. A smile on his face.  
He's wearing his rugby uniform. Unlike football uniforms rugby uniforms have tight shirts and very short shorts. Sherlock feels lightheaded and is having trouble breathing as John comes closer and closer to where he's standing. He grips the fence in front of him tightly and feels ridiculous as he stands there in his jeans and plain black t-shirt. 

Finally John reaches him.  
He places his hands in between Sherlock's on the fencing and leans himself forward.  
Sherlock doesn't dare look him in the eyes. Instead he looks at his knuckles and watches them turn white as his grip tightens just a small fraction more. 

“Hey, you.” John says. 

Sherlock feels as if he's going to faint. Luckily for him by now it is so crowded with people that, if he were to topple over, the sheer mass of bodies will most likely break his fall. 

He can feel the warmth of John's smile on him without even having to look up. 

“You're here”, John says. And John doesn't sound disappointed at all. John sounds....happy. 

Sherlock hazards a glance at John's face from underneath his fringe. 

John looks radiant. 

His cheeks flushed. His hair already pleasantly mussed and his skin has a slight sheen all over. The team has most likely been busy warming up and he has already worked up a bit of a sweat.  
Once again Sherlock wishes he could bury his nose in the crook of John's neck and just stay there. 

He clears his throat and tries to somewhat release his death grip on the fencing in front of him. 

“Greg invited me”, he says. There's just a small bit of him that still thinks John doesn't want him here and he wants to make it absolutely clear that he did not come against John's wishes. 

John looks slightly apologetic now as he rubs the back of his neck. His rugby shirt rides up as he does so and there's a sheen on his muscled abdomen as well and Sherlock's grip tightens again. 

“I thought about asking you to come”, John says, “but then I thought about you and parties....and it's going to be real busy today”, he glances at the still growing crowd behind Sherlock, “and I didn't want you to feel like you _had_ to come just because I asked you to.....even though you'd feel uncomfortable coming.”

John's reasoning makes sense.  
Sherlock is all too aware that, whatever John will ask of him, he will most definitely always say yes.  
Maybe John knows this too....  
He gives John a smile and the answering smile John gives him is so radiant it temporarily blots out the setting sun behind him. 

“I like watching you play”, Sherlock says and immediately cringes. He might have shown his hand a bit here. John can not know he used to watch him covertly.  
John will probably think it's creepy.

Maybe he's reading too much into this. 

John just leans himself further over the fencing that separates them and his voice, close to Sherlock's ear, is a barely audible whisper above the din of the crowd.

“You can watch me all you like”, John says. 

Sherlock bites his lip and John licks his. 

“John!”  
A shout from the field breaks up the intimate moment. Apparently the game is about to start.

“Wish me luck”, John says as he winks at him. 

All Sherlock can do is nod.

John's smile widens once again and as he jogs back to his team-mates Sherlock is finally able to release his grip on the railing in front of him. 

****************************************

John playing rugby is just as amazing as Sherlock remembers it.  
Even better now that he is allowed to watch. 

John is completely in his element. He looks so sure of himself. So certain. He is without fear. Without doubt.  
Even when he gets tackled to the ground he springs right up again, finds Sherlock in the crowd and smiles the most radiant smile. 

Sherlock has never been more in love. 

He realizes what that statement means. 

What he's setting himself up for. 

But in this moment he let's himself believe for the full 100%. 

He pretends John is his boyfriend and John is playing for no one but him. 

He pretends that, after the game is over, John will come running up to him once more and he'll throw his arms around him and bury his face in the crook of John's neck while John is still out of breath and he will be allowed to do so. Because John will be his and he will be John's. 

The game has ended before Sherlock even realizes it was close to ending.  
He has been too lost in daydreams about John. 

The crowd cheers and small groups of onlookers start pouring onto the field. Several members of the rugby team are being hoisted up on shoulders. 

Apparently they won. 

And how could it be any other way. 

With John on your side how can anyone ever lose? 

Sherlock is unsure what to do now. There will be a party for everyone who wants to stay for a bit longer. Loud music is already starting to pour out of the speakers around the field. 

Would John want him to stay for the party as well? 

He thinks back to the last party he and John were both at......the party where he got drunk and vomited all over John's shoes. 

It's probably best if he just left. 

“Hello, again.”  
John is somehow standing in front of him. Sherlock has a bit more room to move now as the people that had been standing around him are either going home or are making their way onto the field.  
He still feels as if he can't breathe. 

John playing rugby had been a sight to behold but he now finds that John who has just played rugby is an even better sight. 

No longer is there a slight sheen of sweat on his skin but he now positively glistens. His hair is sticking out in every possible direction. There's sand in it. There's also sand and mud on his clothes and his shirt hangs slightly off of his left shoulder where a member of the opposing team has been pulling on it in an attempt to tackle John to the ground. 

“Hello”, Sherlock says. His voice sounds as if he's talking from another room. 

John just smiles his radiant smile and, although the sun has definitely set by now, to Sherlock it feels as if it is still high noon. 

“We won”, John says. 

“I saw”, Sherlock replies, “congratulations.” He cannot help but stare at John, the glow of his skin, the rising and falling of his chest as he is still slightly out of breath. 

“Turns out you're a good luck charm”, John says and Sherlock is sure he's heard those words before but for the life of him he cannot remember where exactly.  
His mind has gone all hazy at the moment. 

“Will you stay?” John asks. 

Sherlock nods without even realizing what John has asked him. 

John asks. Sherlock says yes. Always. 

John's smile widens even more and Sherlock is blinded by it. 

“I need to go shower first though”, John continues on talking. Sherlock realizes their conversation is a very one-sided one but he finds himself tongue tied and so all he does is nod.  
Once again John places his hands in between Sherlock's on the fencing between them and leans forward. 

“I'm all sweaty”, he says, “I need to get cleaned up first.”

Sherlock feels warm. Too warm. He feels as if he needs a shower too. And then he thinks about John and showers. And feels even warmer. He can't look John in the eyes anymore. He just can't. He stares down at his feet. At the grass beneath them. 

John chuckles. 

“Wait here for me, okay?” John says. 

Sherlock nods again. 

For a moment John's fingers brush against his and then he's gone. Running back towards the rest of the team. Towards the school building and the showers. 

Sherlock exhales. 

***************************

Sherlock had tried waiting right by the field but there had been too many people there. People he didn't know. He had found that, now that the rugby-team had gone inside to shower and freshen up, he actually didn't know anyone here. 

Once again he had felt awkward and out of place as people around him shouted, sang, drank and on occasion bumped into him and jostled him around. 

He had half a mind of just going home but he had promised John he'd wait for him. 

So that's what he was doing. 

With the music blaring over the speakers most of the people who had decided to stay had gathered on and around the rugby field. The bleachers were now mostly empty.  
Sherlock had found himself a seat high up on one of the bleachers. Away from the crowd. Away from the mania, the cacophony of sounds that made it impossible for him to think. 

He had also spotted Mary on the field.  
Of course she was here. It was only natural. Mary was a cheerleader. This is her scene. He watched her as she moved along the throngs of people. Dancing. Hugging someone every once in a while. Smiling....

No matter how hard he tried he didn't seem to be able to put a smile on his face. 

He just didn't do social so if that was what John wanted from him.....

Again the stark contrast between Mary and himself hit him.  
How right Mary seemed to be for John.  
Such a perfect match.  
And yet John seemed to seek him out time and time again. 

And time and time again he ended up disappointing.  
Because he didn't know what to say and didn't know what to do.  
Like now.  
Sitting on his own. Away from the crowd. Not knowing how to have fun. And, no matter how hard he'd try, he would never get the hang of this. 

Maybe he should go home after all. 

With so many people here.....would John even realize he'd gone.....

“Aren't you getting cold?”

John.

He had been so lost in his own gloomy thoughts he hadn't realized John had come back from his shower and had made his way up the bleachers to find him.  
John was no longer wearing his rugby gear. He was now dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a sweater and his rugby jacket. 

Sherlock shivered.  
By now the evening had decidedly fallen and a chilly breeze crept under the collar and hem of his shirt. He hadn't realized......he often didn't realize the simplest things when he got really lost in his own thoughts.  
Things like being too cold, or too hot, or thirsty, or hungry....

He gave John an apologetic smile.  
“I forgot to bring my jacket”, he said. 

John sat down beside him.  
“That's alright”, he said as he proceeded to take off his rugby jacket and carefully draped it over Sherlock's shoulders. 

The jacket was warm and comforting and smelled like John and the warmth of it seemed to make its way into the depths of Sherlock's chest.

“It's pretty crowded down there, isn't it?” John said. They were sitting very close now. Sherlock sat slightly bent forward with his hands gripping the edge of the seat beneath him. From the corner of his eyes he could see John placing his hand right beside his. 

“I can't wait to leave this town”, he replied. He had no idea where that had come from. Or maybe he did.....  
He was just so done with not fitting in....with feeling like this....awkward.....singular......alone. 

John laughed softly.  
“This place is just too small for you. You're meant for bigger things.”

Sherlock hazarded an actual look at John then. 

He'd never looked at it that way.  
He'd always just felt as if he was the one that was too small.....not enough....not being able to fit in. Everyone else was just so _big_ and _out there_. Exactly where they needed to be. In the right place. A lot of the time he had felt as if there was no place for him. As if he was taking up space that could be used in a much more productive way by someone more.....just more......

Trust John to see it the other way around. To see the good in him. To see what he was capable of and not.....what he couldn't do. 

For the first time that day the smile he gave John was warm and sincere and he could feel John's fingers brush up against his where they both held on to the bench. 

“Were the world mine....,” Sherlock said. 

For a moment John looked confused but then his trademark smile lit up his face once again and Sherlock felt the night disappear around him. 

“That's from the play!”, John said, “A Midsummer Night's Dream.”

Sherlock just nodded and felt his own smile widen. How easy it was to smile when he was around John. He couldn't really remember a time in his life where he had found himself smiling so readily. He silently wished that the stars and moon would halt their inevitable journey along the sky and this night would last forever. 

_were the world his_  
He would shape it into one where things would always be like this.  
Him and John together. The world a barely audible hum way down below.  
He feels John's hand gently cover his and he carefully leans his head against John's shoulder.  
John sighs and Sherlock closes his eyes. 

For a couple of moments neither of them speaks. The stars still move in the sky and with every heartbeat Sherlock feels this perfect moment slip away from him.  
He wills himself to remember it all. Just in case this is all he gets.  
The feel of John's slightly calloused hand on top of his. Weathered from years of intense rugby training.  
The smell of earth and something distinctly “John” that clings to his skin.  
The rise and fall of John's chest as he breathes and the steady pattern of it.  
He cannot seem to stop himself from smiling now. 

“I'm glad you came”, Even though the words are barely a whisper John's voice rumbles through his head and chest where he is pressed close against him. 

“Me too”, he replies. 

“Sherlock?”

“Hmmmm?”

“I need to tell you something.”

He opens his eyes now. The world is spinning around him and he feels as if the bleachers have fallen away from beneath his feet. As if he is caught in a free-fall without end.  
Only by the reassuring pressure of John gently squeezing his hand is he brought back to earth and reality. 

“But.....not now” John says, “I don't want to......if you don't......I mean......I don't want to ruin the moment.....”

For the life of him Sherlock cannot imagine a single thing John could say that would ruin this moment but he ends up just nodding again.  
He doesn't really know what else to do. How to respond. The soft fabric of John's sweater rubs against his cheek as he does so and he stores the memory of it away in his mind as well. 

“I'll tell you after we've had our final performance of “A Midsummer Night's Dream”......okay?” John sounds....hopeful. As if he's already asking him something and really hopes Sherlock will say yes.  
As if he doesn't already know that Sherlock will say yes no matter what he'll ask.  
Sherlock can't help but smile again and nods again. 

John let's out another breath.  
“Okay”, he says, “......okay.”

**************************************

They sit like that for a while longer. Neither of them speaking as John's fingers gently rub the back of Sherlock's hand.  
However, all too soon the festivities down below them end and the field is clearing out again.  
They too have to get up.  
Sherlock takes John's rugby jacket from his shoulders and tries to give it back to him but John just shakes his head. 

“Keep it”, he says, “to keep you warm on the way home as well.”

*************************************

And so Sherlock finds himself at 1:36 am laying on his bed still wearing John's rugby jacket.  
It smells like John.  
It feels like John.  
He wants to envelop himself in both of these sensations for as long as possible.  
Once again he finds he is unable to sleep. 

Once again he takes out his phone. 

Once again he types out a message. 

**Good night, John**

Once again the reply is instantaneous:

_Good night, Sherlock. Sweet dreams._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will probably be one more chapter after this and I am both happy and sad about this.  
> Happy because this story had been a joy to write and sad because I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye to these boys just yet.  
> Who knows....maybe there'll be a sequel one day.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who has read and commented on this story.  
> It means a lot to me.


	7. Chapter 7

With the premier of “A Midsummer Night's Dream” getting closer and closer there hardly is any time left for private practice sessions with John.  
Mrs. Scott keeps the entire cast at school to go through scenes again and again well after her actual class has ended.  
It is a rare thing whenever she lets her students go home before the evening falls.  
And so, after theater-class, instead of going to the coffee-place, John and Sherlock have both been going their separate ways these last couple of weeks and have just gone home. 

Sherlock does still get to spend time with John though.  
It's just not as....intimate.....anymore.  
He still spends his lunch-breaks at the rugby-table.  
John, luckily, has not missed any more lunch-breaks since the disastrous one before the rugby game.

Thank god. 

Sherlock is not quite sure he can handle another half hour sitting there with just John's friends.  
He likes them well enough, after all, they like John, that surely counts in their favour, but apart from that he finds they have fairly little in common with him.  
He's still having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that John and him do.  
Something just sort of.....clicks.....when he's with John.  
Not as if it's “meant to be”, he doesn't believe in that kind of nonsense, but something frighteningly close to it.  
Something he can't describe.  
And he's usually so good with words.  
But every single time he's close to him, John leaves him tongue-tied and flustered......and for the first time in his life.......he thinks he likes it. 

*******************************

Lunch-break is almost over and apparently John has asked him a question.  
Sherlock has not been listening.  
This happens a lot lately.  
He finds himself staring at John and his mind wanders.....and worries.  
About what John wants to say to him once this is all over.  
Once they've had their final performance.  
With every passing second that moment draws nearer and nearer and it is as if Sherlock can physically feel those seconds slip away from him like grains of sand between his fingers.  
Because who is to say that what John is going to say to him will be something good?  
He's not a complete idiot.  
Good things don't usually happen to him.  
Something....someone, like John has never happened to him.  
It's all a bit “too good to be true” and there's this nagging voice at the back of his mind that keeps telling him he's going to lose it all.  
Sometimes the voice is so loud that it drowns out what people are saying to him.  
What John is saying to him, in this instance. 

“I'm sorry....” he says as he tries to focus on what's going on in the here and now.

John just smiles at him as he shakes his head. 

“I was telling the guys you've got an amazing costume” John repeats himself. 

John does this a lot too lately....try and engage Sherlock in the conversation they're having during lunch-break. It's probably because Sherlock's been so quiet these last few weeks. John probably thinks he feels left out.......

All eyes are on him now as the group of boys seated around the table wait for his reply.  
“Ehm...”, he says, “yeah.....it's great.....”  
He's not sure what else to say.  
He wishes he was alone with John again.  
His mind drifts back to John and him sitting on the bleachers together.  
The stars overhead.  
The rest of the world far below.  
John's hand on his and his head on John's shoulder.  
No talking.  
Just....being.  
Just......them. 

Sherlock casts his eyes down to the table where his hands lay useless and empty.  
On his wrist is his watch. The second hand ticks on inexorably. As if to mock him. 

John is telling his friends now about the costumes they'll be wearing for the show. His hands wave wildly in the air as he talks.  
It's a habit of his.  
When John gets really excited about something his hands seem to lead a life of their own.  
Sherlock is not so much paying attention to anything John is saying but his eyes follow the pattern his hands make as he waves them through the air in front of him. 

Sherlock tries to memorize it.  
Remember this moment. 

Far too soon for his liking the bell rings signaling the end of lunch break, and also his time with John, for today. 

They all get up and one by one the boys leave for their respective classes.  
John wavers for a moment and so Sherlock does too. 

“I'll see you again tomorrow, yeah?” John says. He seems so unsure of himself. As if he doesn't know that Sherlock would follow him to the ends of the earth if he would allow it. 

John's standing very close to him now. Sherlock is not sure how that happened. He hasn't seen it happen. He has been lost in thought again.  
Once again the presence of John steals all coherent thought from his mind. All he can do is stare in John's sea blue eyes and nod. 

Of course, John.  
Always. 

Once again his hand is in John's. The first two fingers of John's right hand have softly wrapped themselves around the first two fingers of his left.  
Sherlock hasn't noticed John do this either.  
John just gives him a soft smile and all too soon John's fingers are gone and John walks away. 

“See you tomorrow”, John says. 

Sherlock just nods again. 

*************************

The very last of the rehearsals before the actual performance tomorrow has just ended.  
They've had a full on dress rehearsal. Costumes, music, props, lights, make-up.... the works.  
The atmosphere amongst the students is one of elation and excitement. 

Sherlock isn't sure how to feel. 

He's been watching John all day.  
How he moves. How he talks.  
That voice in the back of his mind keeps telling him: _what if....after tomorrow....you won't get to spend this much time with John anymore..._

There's also a part of him that finds this ridiculous. 

John's been showing him he likes him in lots of different ways.  
Spending time with just him, buying him coffee, remembering how he likes his coffee, buying him a dvd, holding the door for him, texting him, calling him......

But still.....

Until what he thinks this might all mean gets actually spoken aloud it might all still be a dream from which he could wake up at any moment. 

He finds he's not ready to wake up yet. 

Being with John and making himself believe that “John and him”.......could actually happen....it's intoxicating and he wants more of it. 

He doesn't think he'll ever get enough of John and that thought frightens him. 

***********************

They're standing outside the school building. Sherlock and John. It's late in the evening. Mrs. Scott has kept them even later than usual just to be sure they are all well prepared for tomorrow. 

Once again John seems hesitant and unsure. 

“I don't think I'll ever be ready”, John says and he gives him a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

“You'll be fine”, Sherlock says. And he means it. John has made great progress. He's gone from butchering Shakespeare to being perfectly adequate. Sherlock is actually a bit proud of him. 

“Rehearsals went fine.” John says. Still with that strange smile on his face. 

Sherlock wonders why he is suddenly contradicting his own earlier statement. Unless that wasn't about rehearsals....but he's not quite sure what else it could have been about.  
His silence seems to make John even more nervous but he's not quite sure what to say. The silence between them is for once not a comforting and amicable one but an oppressive force stealing away Sherlock's words and breath. 

“So....”, John eventually says, “the big performance tomorrow....”

“Yeah”, he replies. Still not sure what to say. He has a feeling John wants to say things he's not saying. Things that are making him nervous. 

John is looking away from him now.  
“Just....after....afterwards”, he says. Still not meeting Sherlock's eyes, “I still need to talk to you. So don't....don't go running off on me okay?”

John's usually so expressive hands are in the pockets of his jeans. It's as if he's trying to restrain himself in every sense of the word. 

“I won't”, Sherlock replies. And of course he won't. Even though he might not like hearing what John wants to say to him he would never miss an opportunity to spend time with John. Not ever. 

John seems relieved. He's looking at Sherlock again now. The smile on his face a little bit wider. But just barely. 

“Good.....that's good”, he says, “we should probably be getting home.....it's getting late. See you tomorrow then?”

Sherlock just nods again. 

John walks away. Hands still in his pockets. 

******************************************

Sherlock is quiet at dinner.  
Once again he finds himself unable to eat.  
Mycroft has made lasagna.  
From the looks of it he's apparently made it from scratch.  
There are 134,8 kcal in a single serving of lasagna.  
Sherlock sighs.  
He places his fork next to his plate. 

“Why do I even bother cooking if you're not going to eat any of it.” Mycroft doesn't sound so much annoyed as just tired. 

“I'll start eating it once you start making food that actually tastes like food.”  
He knows it's unfair. Mycroft is a fairly decent cook. His mind is just racing all over the place again. He needs it to stop and he's not sure how. He feels as if he has lost control. In every sense of the word. 

Mycroft puts his fork down too now.  
“Are you worried about the performance tomorrow?” He asks. 

Sherlock just sighs again.  
When has he ever been worried about a performance. He knows these lines by heart. He knows the play by heart.  
He's worried about what might happen after.....he just can't really talk to Mycroft about that now can he. 

“I'm just not hungry.” he says. 

Mycroft still looks so worried.  
“Maybe we should book you an appointment with doctor Miller again.....”

“Oh yes....seeing as that worked out _so_ well last time.”

Sherlock gets up from the table. He's not in the mood for any of this now. He's got enough worries as it is.  
He just needs to be alone. 

“Where are you going? Sherlock?”

If only Mycroft would stop talking. 

*********************************************

Sherlock is in his room. Once again he's lying on his back on his bed. He's wearing John's rugby jacket again. John had refused to take it back when he tried to return it to him.  
_Keep it_ he had said. _I have other jackets. It looks good on you._  
He finds the weight of the jacket on his shoulders, chest and arms comforts him whenever he feels like this.  
Overwhelmed.  
Unsure.  
Confused. 

It's 11.43pm. 

Mycroft came upstairs and went to his own bedroom about an hour ago. 

He knocked on his door before doing so but knew better than to come in when Sherlock didn't answer. 

Sherlock can't sleep. 

He doesn't know why he feels this way. 

So.....confused.....not himself. 

His mind is racing and he needs to calm it down. 

He needs John.  
Actual John. Not the smell of his cologne that still only faintly lingers in the folds of his jacket. 

He picks up his phone. 

John might be asleep already. They have to get to the school's theater fairly early tomorrow. 

John might not answer. 

John might not appreciate him calling. 

He figures that, if this might be the last time he gets to call John he might as well just do so. No matter what the outcome is going to be.

His fingers have a slight tremble to them when he pushes the call button. 

The phone only rings twice before John picks up. 

“Hey, you.” John says. 

“Hey”, Sherlock replies. He can't help but smile at the sound of John's voice. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Sherlock's smile widens. John sounds actually pleased to hear from him. 

“I.....I just felt like talking to you”, he says, “my brother's being impossible.”

John laughs and the sound of it makes him feel warm all over. 

“Impossible?” John asks. A hint of amusement to his words. 

“An impossibly big arse.”

John laughs again and Sherlock revels in the comforting warmth the sound of it provides him. 

“That's siblings for you”, John says, “did I ever tell you I have a sister?”

John has never once mentioned any sister. 

“You have a sister? I've never seen her around school.....” Sherlock is intrigued now. He loves learning new things about John.

“Oh, you wouldn't have”, John replies, “she lives on the other side of the country. She goes to school there. My parents sent her away a couple of years ago.......they never told me why.......for all I know she could be a murderer.”

That last part is obviously a joke and John laughs again but there is significantly less joy in it this time. Sherlock wraps John's jacket a little bit tighter around him.

“Did you two get along with each other?” he asks.

John is quiet for a moment before he replies.  
“At first we did”, he says, “but then she changed.....”

“Oh...”

“Doesn't mean I don't miss her......what I'm trying to say is....maybe you should cut your brother just a little bit more slack. He might be gone some day and then you find you'll actually miss him.”

Sherlock doesn't quite know what to say to this.  
Why does John always seem to know what is going on with him and how to make him feel better.  
With his parents always gone, Mycroft is literally all he has.  
And he is all Mycroft has......  
He does care about his brother......he just doesn't know how to show it.  
He doesn't know how to show he cares period.  
Maybe that's why he's having such a hard time coping with John....and how he feels about him.....and what they may or may not have. 

John clears his throat.  
He's probably been quiet for far longer than is socially acceptable when making a phone-call. 

“So, are you ready for tomorrow?” John asks. 

“Not in the least”, he replies. The thought of what might happen tomorrow frightens him more than he can put into words right now. 

“Me either.....you'll be fine though.....you know I think you're amazing, right?”

Sherlock swallows around a sudden lump in his throat.  
“thank you”, he replies. It seems grossly inadequate, “you're pretty good too.”

John laughs again but this time it sounds almost sad. 

“It's late”, John says, “we should probably both try and get some sleep at least.”

“Yeah....maybe......” Sherlock doesn't want the conversation to end but he knows it has to. He feels instantly cold again. “Good night, John.”

“Good night, Sherlock. Sweet dreams.”

Sherlock puts away his phone.  
He doesn't think he'll be able to sleep at all for the rest of the night. 

*******************************************

It's the day of the performance. They'll be performing the play twice in total. Once in the afternoon and once in the evening. Mycroft has tickets to both. 

There will be an after-party once they wrap up.  
Sherlock has never gone to any of the theater-class after parties.  
Once the performance is over the other students use the party to let loose, get rid of their costumes and make-up and become themselves again instead of the parts they have been playing. 

Sherlock doesn't want that.  
He's gone into theater-class to become someone else for a while. To escape. Once the play is over he finds he's not ready to let go of Puck just yet.  
And so he'll stay in his costume just a little bit longer. He'll not remove all of his stage make-up just yet and he'll go home. Alone. 

He's doing his very best not to think of John or their inevitable conversation once the show is over.  
Thinking about that will make him forget his lines. 

************************************************

Mycroft drives him to the theater.  
It's tradition.  
Every single year Sherlock has been in theater-class Mycroft has dropped him off for his performances. Once the show is over Mycroft will be there again to pick him back up and drive him home. 

Neither of them are talking. The only sound the steady hum of the engine and the sound of the traffic outside, muted by the glass of the window.

Eventually it's Mycroft who breaks the silence.  
Sherlock is secretly glad of it. The weight of it was becoming increasingly hard to bear. 

“Are you ready for today?” Mycroft asks. 

Of course he's ready. Mycroft knows this. He's just trying to find something....anything...to talk about. His first instinct is to make a cutting remark. Throw in the word “fat” for good measure but Sherlock thinks back about what John told him last night and ends up just saying: 

“Yeah....yeah...I'm ready.”

Mycroft seems to visibly relax next to him. His hands not gripping the wheel quite as tightly anymore. 

“Listen....”, Mycroft says, “about last night....I never....”

“It's fine.” He doesn't want to talk about this. Not now. He's got other things to worry about. 

“I just want you to know that I....”

“It's fine, Mycroft......Honestly.”

Mycroft gives him a scrutinizing look. Apparently what he sees on Sherlock's face is enough for the moment because he just nods and drives on. 

*****************************

They finally reach the school and Sherlock gets out of the car and hoists his bag with his props and part of his costume on his shoulder. 

“Break a leg”, Mycroft says. He says this every year. 

Again, his instinct is to reply with an insult. He's used “eat a cake” a couple of times.....but this time he just doesn't feel like it. The words feel stale and old and he cannot seem to be able to make them leave his mouth. He has a distinct feeling that they've moved on. Moved past that. Maybe they've both grown up.  
So instead he just smiles and nods. 

His brother smiles back. It's a nice look on him. 

*****************************

Their first performance of the day goes really well.  
Sherlock is mostly functioning on auto-pilot. The lines leave his mouth but his mind is somewhere else completely.  
His mind is focused on John.  
How he moves across the stage whenever he's on. How he delivers his lines. The sound of his voice. His smile. 

He's really doing pretty well. The audience seems to love him too....and how could they not.  
A lot of John's rugby friends have actually bought tickets to see the show and they are not the most quiet of audiences.  
It makes for an.....interesting.....first performance. 

All too soon it is over.  
The last lines are Sherlock's again. He's reminded of the first time he spoke them around John.....so many months ago.....things had been so different then. 

_”So, good night unto you all._  
Give me your hands, if we be friends,  
And Robin shall restore amends.” 

He says. 

Everybody takes their bows.  
The crowd cheers and applauds.  
The curtain closes. 

Sherlock feels as if he's stuck in a dream. 

It feels as if he doesn't have any control over the world around him. 

He looks to find John. 

As if by magic John appears to already be standing beside him.  
There's a smile on his face and for a moment that's all Sherlock's world consists out of.

John takes his hand. 

Apparently the curtains have opened again. 

They take another bow together. 

They're being given a standing ovation but all Sherlock can see is John. 

*****************************

Sherlock is sitting outside of the school theater with John and Molly.  
Their backs are leaned against the wall.  
They're soaking in the late afternoon sun as they wait for their final performance to start. 

“That went better than I thought it would”, John says. A smile on his face. Sherlock is mesmerized by the way the sunlight highlights his eyelashes and tries to commit the image to memory. 

“You've come a long way”, Molly says, “you've gotten pretty good at acting.”

John lowers his head and laughs.  
“All thanks to Sherlock”, he says, “I would never have been able to get all those lines right without him”

Sherlock feels his skin heat up. Usually he likes having all of John's attention on him but not right now. Not with Molly here too. It's just too much. 

“I'm sorry you couldn't join us for the last couple of times we practiced, Molly”, he says. He's not sorry. Not in the slightest. He savors those hours with John alone more than almost any other memory he has. But he needs to divert the attention away from himself. He's pretty sure this will do the trick. 

“It's alright”, Molly says. She blushes and avoids Sherlock's gaze as she stares at the parking lot across from them. She's probably feeling a bit guilty about telling that lie about her sick aunt. 

John coughs. Obviously he feels the tension that has suddenly fallen over the conversation and wants to do something about it. That's just how John is. Ever caring about others. Sherlock loves him for it. 

“Hey”, John says to Molly, “did you see Greg was in the audience?”

Molly turns an even more alarming shade of red. Sherlock doesn't understand why. Greg is John's friend.....why would Molly........and then he suddenly gets it. 

“You and Greg?” he asks. 

Molly nods. She still avoids looking at Sherlock directly. 

“Since when?” he asks. He's more than a bit amazed that he failed to notice this going on sooner. But then again......his mind was preoccupied with other things. 

“I met him at Eric's party”, Molly says, “we....kind of hit it off there......we've only been dating fairly recently though.”

“Is that why you didn't come to practice with us anymore?” he asks. It's all starting to make sense now. 

“No”, she says, “well...yes....in a way....but you and John....”

John coughs again and shakes his head. Molly immediately stops talking. Her eyes go slightly big and she looks caught out. 

“Oh....”, she says, “I thought you knew.....I didn't mean.....”

Sherlock doesn't understand. 

“We should probably go back inside”, John says as he throws him a weak and nervous smile, “we don't want to be late for our final performance.”

And with that he gets up and goes back inside.  
Molly throws him a smile too. Hers an apologetic one.  
She shakes her head as she tries to find words.  
“I....” she said, “I thought you already....”

Then she shakes her head again and follows John inside. 

Sherlock is still thoroughly confused and feels even more ill at ease than before. 

He looks up at the sun until he sees nothing but spots of light and tears form in the corner of his eyes. 

***********************************  
The next and final performance goes by in even more of a blur.  
Sherlock supposes he gets his lines right because nobody gets flustered or looks at him funny. 

Once again he speaks his final lines.  
The audience gets up to applaud. John takes his hand and they take their bows.  
None of it is really registering anymore. 

This is it, he thinks.  
This might be the last time John takes my hand. The last time I get to be this close to him.  
He tries to memorize the feeling of John's fingers in his but he finds his own fingers have gone numb and his palms are so clammy he's unable to feel anything. 

*********************************

Sherlock is sitting in his dressing room. He shares this space with a couple of other students but they have already gone. They're getting ready for the big after-party.  
Sherlock is stalling for time.  
He's taken off most of his Puck costume.  
He's left wearing a pair of sweatpants and the black tank top he wore underneath his costume.  
He's taken off his wig. His hair is a complete mess. He hasn't bothered trying to correct it. 

At the moment he's in the process of removing his stage make-up. He's gotten pretty much all of it done. He just needs to get rid of his eye-liner now.  
He hesitates.  
He really doesn't like taking it off.  
It's way too close to his eyes and he always seems to make more of a mess than anything else when he starts on it. The dark black lines will smudge and run before he can get rid of them and it'll look like chaos.  
Sherlock doesn't like chaos. 

His mind is in chaos at the moment. 

He's waiting for John. 

John said he would come to him.  
John has something to say.  
John has never lied to him before.  
And so he waits.  
And looks at himself in the mirror.  
At the black lines underneath his eyes. Averting complete chaos for just a little bit longer. 

Behind him the door to his dressing room opens and someone enters. 

_John_

Slowly he turns himself around. 

This is it, he thinks. 

But when he looks at the opened and closed again door it's not John who has come to visit him. 

It's Mary. 

She must see the look of utter confusion on his face because a smile lights up on hers. 

“Hi”, she says. Far too cheery for Sherlock's liking. 

Sherlock doesn't reply. 

“I'm here on behalf of John”, she says. 

Sherlock still doesn't say anything. He finds he can't. 

“He wanted me to tell you that you can just go home”, Mary says, “you see.....gosh....this is kind of awkward but.....John and I have gotten back together.”

“What.....” Sherlock says. His voice sounds strange and foreign to him. Not like his own at all. 

“It was very sweet of you to help him but he doesn't need you anymore”, Mary continues. The look on her face is one of pity. The look you'd give a small child when explaining to them Santa isn't real. 

At the moment Sherlock feels like a child. Is this what John wanted to tell him? That Mary and he are an item again? Part of him thinks that Mary is lying. This cannot be true.....during these last couple of weeks John has never once said anything that....

But then again.......the dark part of his mind tells him, John has also never said anything that proves this isn't true. If John truly wants to be with Sherlock then....why isn't he here.....

“You see”, Mary says, “he had this plan to win me back. He thought performing in the school play would be an awfully romantic gesture and look!.....it worked!.....He's won me back!” She has a big smile on her face. Like the cat that got the cream. Sherlock doesn't blame her. She's won. There's a part of him that always knew what he had with John couldn't last. That what he made himself to believe they had was only temporary. Borrowed happiness. But he's still glad he had it nonetheless.  
He's just not sure how he's going to go back to …..not....having it now. 

Apparently Mary is still not done talking.  
“John and I are going to the after-party together”, she says, “I don't think it would be appropriate for you to be there too don't you......gosh, what's your name again?”

“Sherlock”, he replies before he even realizes his lips are moving and his mouth is forming words. 

Mary crinkles her nose.  
“What a funny name”, she says, “anyway, I don't think you should be there as well....you'd just embarrass yourself....you know.....”, she delivers the next part of her speech in a stage whisper, “your crush on him has been quite obvious.”

Sherlock can't bring himself to look at her right now. He lowers his eyes and just shakes his head.  
Does everyone know about his crush on John?  
He feels mortified.  
He wasn't going to the after-party in any case but now he really just wants to go home.  
Get in to bed and pull the covers over his head and try and forget any of this ever happened.  
Except for John.  
No matter how painful, he will never be able to bring himself to forget about John. 

He gets up. His legs are shaky and numb but he manages to get to the door and as he leaves Mary gives him a final: “we really appreciate what you did for us.”  
Sherlock doesn't want to hear it.  
He texts Mycroft to come and pick him up.  
He doesn't really want to see his brother right now either but he doesn't think his legs will be able to carry him much further. 

**************************

Sherlock is sitting outside in the parking lot when Mycroft comes driving up.  
It's the same sleek black car he had used to come pick Sherlock up at the night of “The Incident” and he has a weird sense of deja vu.  
He felt miserable then as well. 

He's left his bag with his regular clothes inside but he's not going back to pick it up. It'll still be there when the next school day rolls around. 

Mycroft opens the door and gets out and Sherlock walks up to him. 

When his brother sees him he looks more than a little concerned. 

“Are you alright?” Mycroft asks. 

Sherlock just shrugs. He's not in the mood for talking. He's not in the mood for anything much. 

Mycroft is about to say something more but then something else catches his attention. Something behind Sherlock. 

“I've seen that boy before....”, Mycroft says. 

Against his better judgment Sherlock turns around and follows his brother's gaze. 

John is standing at the other end of the parking lot. He's too far away to make out the look on his face but he does not appear to be smiling.  
There's a sinking feeling in Sherlock's stomach. 

“Oh, I remember!”, Mycroft says. 

Of course he remembers. Mycroft never forgets anything. Of course he remembers “The Incident” as well. Of course he remembers John being there. Sherlock feels as if his humiliation is complete. 

“That's that boy who has a crush on you”, Mycroft says.....and Sherlock's world seems to slow down and then stop. 

“What?” he says. 

“He was there that night I picked you up from that party......the one where you got so sick”, Mycroft explains himself. Sherlock feels as if he is underwater. His movements are sluggish, his limbs not his own and Mycroft's words are muted. 

Mycroft is never wrong. 

“Are you.....sure?” Sherlock asks. 

Mycroft actually rolls his eyes.  
“You'd have to be an idiot not to see it”, his brother says, “I'm surprised you didn't know. The way he looked at you....talked to you.....his arm around your waist....the boy couldn't keep his eyes off of you.......I had to physically tear you away from him and drive away or else we'd still be there right now.”

Mycroft is quiet for a moment then as he eyes his younger brother.  
“You really didn't know?” he says again. But his words are lost on Sherlock. Sherlock is already making his way across the parking lot.......making his way to John. 

**************************************

John looks worried. 

“Were you leaving?” he asks. 

Sherlock is confused. There are so many conflicting feelings and emotions swimming through his head right now. He doesn't know what he was trying to do. 

“I don't know....” he says. 

“Oh....”, John says, “I do still need to talk to you.....that is.....if you've got time.”

Sherlock just nods. He's hoping John will clear this whole mess up once and for all. John is good at that. Making him see things that he hadn't thought were possible. Good things. Sherlock hopes this is one of those occasions where he does just that. 

John seems hesitant and at the sight of it Sherlock's stomach drops....what if Mary was right...

But John is looking at Mycroft over Sherlock's shoulder. 

“Can we not talk in front of your brother though.....”, John says. He rubs the back of his neck as an apologetic smile is on his face “he kind of creeps me out.”

John knows who Mycroft is.......

John has only met Mycroft one time.......

The night of “The Incident.”

John remembers the incident. Knows it was him.

John remembers and still wanted to hang out with him. 

Maybe there is truth in Mycroft's observations after all. 

“He creeps everyone out.” Sherlock replies. 

John actually laughs at this and the sound seems to calm Sherlock's nerves just a fraction. He finds he's regaining the voluntary use of his limbs and his chest doesn't feel quite as tight anymore. 

“Can we talk in your dressing room?” John asks. 

For a moment Sherlock panics. What if Mary is still there? But no...what would she even still be doing there......at this point she should have been with John and the fact that John is here and she isn't.....

He nods. 

As John starts leading the way he suddenly remembers Mycroft but as he looks back at his brother, Mycroft is still standing next to the car. Seeing Sherlock looking back at him Mycroft gives him a smile and waves before he gets back in and drives off. Sherlock gives him half a smile back. It's all he can manage right now. 

***************************

When they enter Sherlock's dressing room the first thing Sherlock notices is that Mary isn't there anymore.  
The second thing he notices is a purple flower taped to his mirror.  
He carefully takes it down and twists it between his fingers. 

“I left that there for you”, John says. He seems so nervous. 

There's a note stuck to the stem of the flower. Sherlock takes it between his fingers but before he can open it and read what it says John stops him. 

“Don't read that yet!” John says, “I've got something to say first.”

Sherlock closes his hand around the note and waits.  
But whatever John has to say he seems to either have lost his nerve or temporarily forgot what it was.  
He's rubbing the back of his neck again and he licks his lips as he avoids looking at Sherlock at all costs. 

“Why didn't you wait for me....” is what he says eventually. More to himself than to Sherlock but Sherlock still feels he owes him some form of explanation. 

“Mary was here”, he says. 

“Mary?” John seems genuinely confused, “what would she want here?”

“She said you two had gotten back together”, as he says it out loud....now.... the words sound ridiculous and he wonders why he ever thought it was true. Especially with John looking at him as if he's gone mad. 

“Why would I ever do that?” John says, “I haven't seen Mary in months and I.....you......surely you've caught on.....”

“So....you're not back together?” Sherlock needs to get this absolutely clear. He needs to erase all traces of any doubts that might still linger in his mind. 

“God no”, John says as he gives Sherlock a half smile, “I told you.....I'm in love with someone else.”

Sherlock feels like all the breath has been knocked out of his lungs. All he can do is stare at John and hope for the best. 

John rubs the back of his neck again.  
“What I wanted to say.....to you.....”, he says, “is that.....I.....why is this so hard.......it's you......I'm in love with you......I've been for months now......longer even.......I got into theater-class because I knew you were there and.....please don't find this creepy......I just wanted to be able to spend time with you......and get to know you.......and I didn't know how else to do it......and.......please say something.”

“I....”, Sherlock says. He wants to say so many things to John. Wonderful, lovely, perfect John. But once again his tongue is not cooperating. 

John seems to completely misinterpret his silence. 

“If you don't feel the same way that's perfectly fine”, he says, “I would never want to pressure you into something you didn't want......to do.....but I just thought......I don't know what I thought......and Greg said....”

“Greg knows about this?”

“Oh yeah....most of the rugby-guys know I'm completely gone on you. Greg's been encouraging me to......you know......try and win you over....it was his idea for me to join theater-class.......he said, and I quote, that “if he had to spend another chemistry class watching me moon over you he'd change schools””.  
John gives him a sheepish smile and it is the most adorable thing Sherlock has ever seen.  
“One of the rugby guys probably told Mary about you and that's why she was here....to try and drive you away.....get back at me.....or something.....” John concludes. 

“I had no idea...” he says. 

“Well....now you know.”  
John is standing a couple paces away from him. As if he doesn't know what to do now and Sherlock is reminded of the first phone-call they had......John had said he thought his secret crush didn't like him back.......and assuming he was talking about Sherlock at the time.......Sherlock realizes he might not have given John all that much reason to believe he likes him as much as he does.  
He's been constantly running away from John in an attempt to get his own feelings under control.  
John has probably no idea how much his feelings are returned.....

“Maybe I should just....”, John starts saying. 

“Me too.....”, Sherlock says at the same time. 

“Sorry?” John says. He looks so lost and confused. Sherlock can't help but laugh. John answers him with half a smile of his own. He still looks very unsure of where exactly he stands with Sherlock at the moment. 

“I mean”, Sherlock says. Somehow he seems to have regained his courage. It's what the knowledge that he is not about to lose John does to him, “I like you too.....in that way....have for a while now.”

John's smile widens and for a moment it is as if the sun has descended from the sky and has found a new home on John Watson's face. Sherlock finds him positively radiant.  
“You can read the card now”, John says and for a moment Sherlock is confused but then he remembers the card attached to the flower still clutched in his hand. 

He gently removes it and places the flower back down in front of his mirror.  
There are only a couple of words written on the small card but they are enough.  
John's handwriting is sharp and chaotic but the words are easy enough to make out:

 _I think your amazing. Will you go out with me?_ the note reads. 

Sherlock chooses to ignore the spelling mistake John has made. He probably wrote it in a hurry, he figures. Somehow it totally suits John. Innocent, honest and to the point. Sherlock can't help but smile. 

“Is that a yes?” John asks. 

Once again he finds he's unable to form words but this time for the complete opposite reason. He's never been this happy in his life. Somehow it all feels like a dream to him.....a very good dream....but how can any of this be real..... 

“Are you sure  
That we are awake? It seems to me  
That yet we sleep, we dream.” he says. 

For a moment John looks confused again but then he recognizes the words. He should. They're Demetrius' lines from “A Midsummer Night's Dream”.  
He smiles as he steps closer to Sherlock and once again takes his hands in his. Intertwining their fingers. The note falls to the ground. 

“My ear should catch your voice. My eye, your eye....” John says. They're Helena's lines. Sherlock is surprised John knows these as well. He's not complaining though. John is standing so close to him now that once again he can feel John's breath on his face. Sherlock knows what the next line is and once again a warm feeling spreads from his abdomen all the way to his chest. _my tongue should catch your tongue_ he thinks. Sherlock bites his lip and John swallows. 

“I'm still wearing my eye-liner”, Sherlock says. He had been thinking about kissing John, but somehow this is what comes out. He had been thinking about kissing John with still half of his stage make-up on and his hair a mess.....he had wondered if John would mind. 

John just laughs again and gently squeezes Sherlock's hands where he is still holding them.  
“I like your eye-liner”, he says, “it's a good look on you.”

Sherlock hesitates for a moment.  
“I like your everything”, he replies. 

John laughs again. The sound is so lovely, care-free and honest....Sherlock wants to bathe himself in it. 

“ ”Everything” is quite a lot”, John says. 

“Well....You're quite a lot to take in.”

And then John moves closer still and gently presses their lips together. The movement is unhurried. The feeling of John's lips on his is soft, barely even there. 

_My tongue should catch your tongue_ Sherlock thinks again and sighs into the kiss. 

John, apparently, is a mind reader because as soon as Sherlock's lips part John opens his as well and carefully moves his tongue inside of Sherlock's mouth. 

Sherlock feels as if he's died and gone to heaven. 

He had no idea kissing could be like this. 

He never wants this kiss to end. 

Never wants John to leave.

He untangles their hands and John gives a small groan in protest that quickly turns into a contented sigh when Sherlock moves them to the small of John's back and pulls him closer. 

He can feel John's lips form a smile against his own.

And then John is back to kissing him again. 

With John's hands freed up too they roam wherever they please. Sherlock's back, his arms, he feels John's fingers softly stroke the side of his neck and he shivers, eventually Johns hands find their way into his hair where they tangle themselves delicately into his curls and Sherlock actually moans. 

He didn't think it was possible but the kiss deepens as John now crushes his lips against his mouth. It almost hurts. Sherlock kind of wants it to hurt. Pain is just another feeling and with John he wants to feel everything. 

Eventually John's hands slide out of his hair and back to the small of his back and John breaks the kiss.  
They are both panting.  
Their foreheads pressed together.  
Sherlock can still feel the ghost of the pressure of John's harsh kiss on his lips, the taste of him on his tongue and the feel of his breath on his face every time he exhales. 

He smiles. 

He's never been happier. 

John is actually his. 

Every doubt he has ever had has just been thoroughly kissed away by John Watson.  
He finds he'd very much like to do it again.  
Preferably, in the very near future.  
His hands grip the back of John's shirt and he pulls him even closer against his body. 

John let's out a soft breathy laugh.

“That's a “yes” right?” John says. 

“What?” for a moment Sherlock is confused again. 

“To going out with me.....my note?”

Sherlock laughs too now. 

“Yes”, he says. 

Laws of physics. John Watson asks. Sherlock Holmes says “yes”. Always. 

“Do you want to go to the after-party?” John asks. 

Sherlock makes a face.  
“God no”, he says. 

John chuckles.  
“Thought so”, he says, “do you want to go and get coffee?”

“Ehm....I don't think the coffee-place is still open”, he replies. 

John's smile turns positively mischievous. Sherlock resists the urge to kiss him again. Just barely. 

“I meant at my house”, John says, “plenty of coffee there....and my parents aren't home....so...”

The hint of panic that Sherlock suddenly feels must show on his face because John suddenly backpedals a bit.

“I didn't mean....”, he says, “I meant just coffee.......that's all.....I didn't......”  
John turns an alarming shade of red and Sherlock once again finds himself falling deeper and deeper in love. If such a thing was even possible. 

John has completely misinterpreted his panic but he's not going to correct him.  
He does want to.....do more than drink coffee......with John.....at some point. But he's only just had his first kiss. He's still experiencing everything that entails. He still has to try out every possible variation of it and store it in his mind.  
He still doesn't know what it's like to kiss John in the hollow at the bottom of his throat. What that spot just behind his ear tastes like. The lids of his eyes where his golden eyelashes flutter every time he blushes. What his blush tastes like. What it's like to kiss the corners of his mouth as they lift up in a smile....

So much to discover still.

He's waited so long for John. He doesn't want to rush a single thing about this. 

“Just coffee will be fine”, he says. 

John exhales.  
“Good...that's good”, he says, “that's....”

And then Sherlock's lips are on his again and then he moves them away, to the corners of John's mouth, to his cheeks, he kisses each eyelid and then.....saved for the very last....he kisses that place at the bottom of John's throat. 

John groans and the sound of it vibrates through his searching lips and tongue and finds its way to a place deep in his chest. 

It tastes even better than he ever could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is....the final chapter....because I couldn't stop typing. 
> 
> If, like me, you're sad this is over: don't be.  
> I am planning to turn this into a series and add other instalments. The main story is just over...for now. 
> 
> This particular story might be my least viewed one but it is the one that has received the most love from its readers in the form of lovely and heartwarming comments.  
> You all have no idea how much that has meant to me and all of these comments are part of the reason why I just couldn't stop typing and updates have been so rapid.  
> So, thank you, each and every one of you. You are all amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> I just love "Were the World Mine" so much and when I love something I either draw something or write something about it.  
> So....voila......  
> I'll leave it up to you, dear readers, finish this: yay or nay?
> 
> Ps: I have a Tumblr. I'm Vanimelda4 there as well. Come say hi sometime!


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